


Beyond the Yellow Brick Road

by phoenix_rose (mordwen)



Series: Bromance [3]
Category: American (US) Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Rocketman (2019) RPF, Scottish Actor RPF, Welsh Actor RPF
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Academy Awards, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Bisexual Richard Madden, Blow Jobs, Brandon Flynn: World Champion Metamour, Brandon is very vanilla, Cock Rings, Coming Out, Coming Untouched, Demisexual Taron Egerton, Dom/sub, Glass Closet, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mild Angst, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Phone Sex, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Praise Kink, Safeword Use, Taron Egerton is an adorable nerd, Taron's denim jacket obsession, Vibrators, bizarre promotional events, even more cameos due to fashion week, everyone's parents are lovely, extensive discussions about coming out, extremely rich people and their palatial abodes, lots of cameos due to movie premieres and after parties, negative self-talk, overly accurate depictions based on Instagram, poor decisions about sex, sappy boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2020-09-01 09:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 75,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20255719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordwen/pseuds/phoenix_rose
Summary: Sometimes, thinks Taron, a family is three men, their directors and co-stars, their stylist, their photographer, their dogs, their celebrity friends and their doting Swarovski-clad Uncle Elton.





	1. brightening the daybreak

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has entirely eaten my life. For those of you who've been asking about the detail, I wrote a little ['behind the scenes' post](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/post/186822972558/bromance-behind-the-scenes) for what goes into some of this.
> 
> Obviously, this is Part 3 of a series. It definitely helps to have read the first two parts. :-)
> 
> I'm hoping to post new chapters approximately weekly. 
> 
> I want to thank [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus) for indefatigable cheerleading, even though she's not a Brandon fan, and both her and my friend Em for beta reading. Any remaining errors are all mine. And I want to thank everyone who's commented and contacted me to chat — especially the folks who pointed me in the right direction to find Brandon/Richard info.

Richard shoulders open the door to the hotel room, his heavy black carry-all slung over his back, and half expects Charlie to come bounding out to greet him. 

“Hey, hon!” he calls and hears Brandon call back, “Omigod you’re early!!” and then he hears running, and then he’s almost knocked over by Brandon flinging himself at him and he can’t help but grin. He drops the carry-all next to him on the floor and wraps both arms around the man, tight.

“Ah, but you’re a sight for sore eyes!” he says, and he plants a wet kiss on Brandon’s cheek with a loud smack. “I don’t know if I’d call this early. I was supposed to be here last night… Bloody British Airways...”

“Food or shower first?”

“Will ye think I’m disgusting if I say food?”

“Not at all, babe. Besides, I quite like me a sweaty Madden…” and Brandon makes a show of breathing in Richard’s neck like a fine cologne, and they’re both laughing, easy as anything.

“I missed you so much, my love,” Richard says. 

“I know,” says Brandon, simply.

Richard pulls back a little, looks at him. “I’m serious, though. You’re my home. You’re safety and warmth and dog walks. I love you.”

“I love you too, duffer.”

“I never want to be apart again. From now on I’m packing you into my suitcases.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s get you some food and then you can tell me everything.”

“I need to kiss you a little bit more before we go out there.” Richard kisses the corner of Brandon’s mouth, and then kisses him firmly on the mouth between every word. “I… am… so… glad... we… decided… that (mwah) you… should come to New York instead of waiting another week for me to see you. Whose genius idea was that?”

“I believe that was mine,” smiles Brandon, and closes the distance between them to smooch his man thoroughly, Brandon’s hand on Richard’s neck, Richard’s hand in Brandon’s hair, until they’re both breathless. 

Richard groans and runs his hand through his own hair when they separate. “Food, sorry. Then debauchery.”

“Like, definitely holding you to that,” laughs Brandon. “No wimping out on me and claiming jetlag!” Brandon grabs a pair of shades and puts them on, does a twirl for Richard. “How do I look?”

“Suitably drab and non-descript and yet eminently snoggable, my darling.”

They head out into the city, [a matching pair in navy and sunnies, carefully walking a few feet apart](http://www.justjared.com/2019/05/22/richard-madden-grabs-dinner-with-brandon-flynn-in-nyc/). They both know it probably won’t stop the vultures, but they don’t feel like feeding them today, either. 

Over dinner, they talk about Cannes and all the surface stuff, about Elton and David, and Brandon catches Richard up on the latest dog park gossip and what’s been happening with Dylan’s band. They don’t talk about Taron — apart from the drunken 4am Welsh singalong — and Richard knows he needs to broach that subject soon, but in private, obviously. 

Back at the hotel, they undress each other slowly, fingers remembering skin and muscle, drawing moans of pleasure from each other, arching together as they come, kissing and petting in their afterglow. 

“Welcome home, stunner,” says Brandon. Richard nuzzles into his neck, completely content and he sleeps. 

***

Overnight, Taron has texted him a link to the [Zane Live video with Elton and Giles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZyaRAPbCnLM) with just the word, “Surreal” and then a few hours later, “I miss you. You’re asleep on the other side of the world.” Then there’s a photo of his wrist, silver chain across pale skin, and a blush emoji, and Richard strokes the screen and thinks, _ mine_. He texts him back, “Gorgeous. Awake now… miss you too. Talk soon?”

Brandon is already in the kitchenette, making eggs and mushrooms and it smells heavenly. Richard sneaks up behind him, wraps his arms around him and reaches up to kiss the back of Brandon’s neck. 

“Morning! Your smoothie’s over there…” Brandon gestures. 

“Mmm, ta, love.” Richard pours himself a glass of the green concoction. “Uh, Taron texted me something this morning that reminded me there’s some things I haven’t told you about yet. Are you up for that? Or wait till the coffee’s kicked in?”

Brandon looks over at him, curiously. “Well, I’m intrigued now! So spill…”

“It’s… complicated… because I’m not sure Taron really understands it.” Richard rubs a hand across his stubble. “God, where do I start?”

Richard plonks himself down on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, sips his drink. “Did you ever go to kinky clubs when you were at college?”

Brandon looks at him, sharply. “Like leather and chains and riding crops? No. Not my scene at all. Did you?”

Richard laughs, lightly. “I did. Had a friend who was into all that, pain and what not. Don’t worry, not my scene either.” Brandon looks relieved but only a little. “Thing is, it’s more layered than that. And I think — for Taron — he wouldn’t use this word about himself — but he’s submissive. He wants someone to take control, take care of him, make the decisions…” He can tell his voice has gone a little soft, just saying it. 

“And you like that,” says Brandon, not quite a question. 

“And I like that — a lot. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t need it, not all the time, not from you — but I like being… dominant… for Taron,” he pauses, keen to get this right. “What he’s giving me is a precious gift and he makes me want to protect him. I can’t explain…”

Brandon comes around the bar with two plates, puts one in front of each of them, sits next to him, and puts a hand on Richard’s knee. “You’re explaining just fine. Have you talked about this with him?”

“Not in so many words. But aye? And I gave him a bracelet to remind him that I’m taking care of him, so he doesn’t feel adrift while I’m gone.”

Brandon nods, fingers his own necklace from Richard around his neck. “Go on.”

“So… I feel like this is going pretty fast… and that it’s only fair I tell you. You already know I love him — and he loves me. But this could get intense…”

“Sweetheart, I trust you. I know you can’t promise this won’t affect us, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit surprised… but so long as that stuff stays between you two, I’m fine.”

Now it’s Richard’s turn to look relieved. “You’re so good to me, B. Thank you.”

And when he looks at his phone, Taron has responded, “long day here, ate lots of weird shit but delish, going to try to kip, early flight.”

***

“Hello?” Taron’s voice sounds slurred, even just in that one word.

“I can hear you. Where are you? Sounds noisy.”

“I’m on fecking Sydney Harbour. [ Outside the fecking Opera House. It’s purple. ](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bx2GOdKlZ8i/)”

“What?”

“I said it’s purple. No, wait. Now it’s gone blue. I think it’s supposed to be a flower?”

“Are you high, love?”

“Nah, mate, it’s _ art_. Hang on.” The noises in Richard’s ear change and then his phone buzzes with a text message. “There,” says Taron triumphantly. “‘S’a flower, right?” Richard takes his phone away from his ear to look at the text, and bizarrely, Taron’s not wrong. There’s the Sydney Opera House but instead of being classic ivory, it’s got a massive orange, purple and fuschia flower projected onto it. He puts the phone back to his ear.

“Yes, definitely a flower.”

“‘S’called Vivid. Festival.”

“Have you eaten, sweetheart?”

“YES. The sushi here is INCREDIBLE. I ate so much sushi. Wait. Did I wake you up? I think I’ve lost track of what day it is.”

“You didn’t wake me up. It’s 8.30 in the morning. Entirely reasonable.”

“Good. Need your beauty sleep. I’m so jetlagged. The bags under my eyes have bags on them.”

“Thank god for make-up, eh?”

“Oh. They won’t like me tomorrow in make-up, will they? Naughty Taron. Drank Asahi instead of sleeping.”

There’s a voice in the background, and Taron says, off-mic, “S’Richard.”

“Is that Dex?” asks Richard.

“Yep. Wanna say hi? Richard wants to say hi, Dex.” and before Richard can say anything, he’s got Dexter. “Hi, Richard.” Richard can hear the smile all the way across the ocean.

“Hello, Dexter.”

“How’s New York?”

“Cosy. How was Seoul?”

“A whirlwind. Do we get to stop soon?”

“Sorry, mate, not my fault you made a masterpiece. So, look, you’ll take care of T, won’t you?”

“I’ll return him to you unbroken, promise.” Richard has to take a moment. He knows that the others know, but it’s the first open acknowledgement of it and it makes it suddenly real. 

“Thanks, Dex. Appreciate it. I’ll see you in New York, all right?”

“Absolutely. Here’s Taron.”

“Wish you were here, Dickie,” says Taron. “It’s really, really something.”

“Part of me wishes I was, too, love.”

“What are you and B doing today?”

“Still working it out. Fallon tonight though, 4pm call for 5pm taping.”

“I’ll watch yours if you watch mine…”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Ohhhh, that one was really pretty… ‘M gonna go now, Mr Handsome Face. Will you text me?”

“I will. Something just for you.” Then, low, pitched so Dex won’t hear it, he says, “I love you, Taron,” and he can feel Taron’s breath catch all the way down to his toes.

***

As Richard’s prepping for Fallon, Brandon is kicking back, checking email and sorting through pitches his agent has sent. 

“Um, babe?” Brandon says.

“Yeah?” says Richard, distracted.

“Did you check your email in the past five days?”

“Was a bit busy, love. What did I miss?”

“Your parents want to know if you’ve confirmed hotels for them in Monaco — I’m copied in because it’s a reply to the thing you sent originally telling everyone Ferrari had given you extra comps…”

“Ah shite!” Richard exclaims. “Taron’s going to kill me. I told him we might see him in LA before the premiere. I’m daft.”

“It’s been hectic. He’ll understand. You text him and concentrate on Fallon. I’ll follow up with the travel agent. Flight’s tomorrow, there’s time.”

Richard passes a hand across his face, stretches his neck. “I think I’d be better to call him. But it’s the middle of the night there. Ugh.”

***

Hanging out in the green room for Fallon, Richard checks the time… 4.45pm is… 6.45am Sydney time according to his iPhone. That’s going to be too early given the state T was in earlier. He’ll call after? He flicks off a quick text just in case.

(4.53pm) How’s your head, love? We need a quick chat when you’ve got a sec. I’m incommunicado for a few though…

He waits but there’s no answer, and then an assistant pops their head in to see if he’s ready and it’s time.

On air, [ he’s relaxed and demure as ever ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lEVUAI7E5jo) — there’s just a calm space he gets into sometimes with all this, as if it’s not him they’re talking about. Fallon says, “Taron Egerton’s fantastic in it,” and Richard can feel his lips quirk up and he has to hold himself back, nod and just say, “He is…” when all he wants to do is gush about his brilliant boy. And then he gets to talk about Elton, and about love and joy and compassion. And then there’s a moment where Fallon tries to describe Reid as Elton’s first manager — as if that professional relationship is why he’s in this film, and Richard really hopes he didn’t snap out the word _ boyfriend _ as crisply as he thinks he did, but he’s not about to collude in any attempt to straight-wash Elton’s life and on one level, he’s defending his own existence and then they roll the clip of Reid seducing Elton and Richard has to watch Taron’s eyes flick to his lips then his eyes over and over, and he’s bloody glad he has decades of acting under his belt to gaze smoothly out at the audience with a gentle smile as if his heart isn’t beating just a little faster, as if his chest hasn’t seized up, as if he can breathe.

Immediately after they take the mic off him, he whips his phone out to see if Taron’s responded. Nothing.

He checks World Time again and it’s 8.47am in Sydney, so he brings up Taron’s number and hits the green button.

“Myeah?” he hears, sleepy and confused.

“Hey love, it’s me, Richard,” says Richard, walking rapidly away from prying eyes and ears, and into the corridors of the studio. “Sorry to wake you…”

“You… I was dreaming about you. Mmmm… think I should go back to sleep.”

“That good, love?”

“So naughty, Dickie.” Taron lowers his voice. “You were fucking me. From behind. Uhhhh, god, I’m still hard from it.”

Richard chokes back a gasp, clears his throat. “I’m… erm… still at the NBC studios, sweetheart. And uh… I’m afraid I’ve got bad news.”

Taron’s quiet on the other end of the line, so he keeps going. “Something’s come up — a commitment I’d forgotten, so we won’t be in LA when you land. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh,” says Taron, and Richard can hear that he’s trying hard to brush it off. “So, you’re staying in New York? I can come on straight from Kimmel… it’s only an extra day or so.” 

“No, it’s ridiculous. I don’t even believe we’re doing it. We’ll be in Monaco. For the grand prix. On Ferrari.”

“Monaco.” Taron’s voice is flat.

“And then back to New York for the Premiere. It’s crazy, right? I’d forgotten all about it.”

“So I won’t see you until the actual Premiere? In public, with everyone?”

“No, I wouldn’t do that to you. We’ll fly in that morning. And you, me and B will meet up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” says Richard, hopeful.

“Okay,” says Taron, determined. And then he pushes it away, changes the subject entirely. “Hey, is Elton sending you reviews? Or is it just me? My in-box is filled with them and they’ve all got the same subject line.”

And Richard laughs. “Just you, I think, darling. Just you.”

***

Ridiculously early the next day, Brandon and Richard shower efficiently, pack, shrug into comfy clothes, throw on the sunnies and steel themselves. 

“Ready to run the gamut, babe?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. God, I hate this.”

Brandon soothes him, squeezing Richard’s shoulder. “I know,” he says, soft. “When’s that New York Times piece coming out?”

“In a week. Don’t know if it’ll make it better or worse though, love.” Richard hoists his leather hold-all. “You go first, see if we can keep enough distance between us that they don’t get one together?”

They leave Greenwich Hotel and hurry into the waiting car, but the [ photos are already online ](https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-7069707/amp/Richard-Madden-cuts-casual-figure-leaves-hotel-New-York.html) by the time they’re at the airport and they know there’ll be [ paps waiting at the other end too ](https://www.profimedia.cz/0436863007). 

“Honestly, darling, I don’t give a flying fuck who knows I love you, okay?” says Brandon. “I intend to walk off this plane with my head held high, and a [ grin like I just joined the mile-high club ](https://www.profimedia.cz/0436863111) , okay? We’re going to the Grand Prix in _ Monaco_, sweetheart. Don’t let petty snoops affect _ us_.” And Brandon reaches over the arm rest and holds Richard’s hand the whole way. 


	2. and he’s far away somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taron is jetlagged and desperately missing Richard; Richard and Brandon are in Monaco. Taron discovers Datalounge. Everyone does far too much press. Richard loses his temper with an interviewer. There are declarations of love. Richard and Taron finally get to see each other again in New York and it turns out, reunion sex is incredibly hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to everyone commenting and getting in touch. A lot of work goes into producing these chapters and I'm not ashamed to say I have a praise kink about as wide as Taron's, so thank you. I've been told the chapter might lose its pace a bit with all the interviews, so if you don't care about that stuff, skip from "he's still exhausted when they arrive at Yahoo!" to "has to switch to FaceTime because he needs to see him."
> 
> Thanks as always to heavensfallingaroundus and Em for beta reading. Any errors are mine. Especial thanks this week to the fabulous guys at Datalounge. Your dedication is admirable. However, the guy who came up with 'musky fartbox' is either Brandon trolling you all or someone whose idea of hot is _very_ different from my own. Warning for those planning to check out the Datalounge threads: the biphobia in there is rank. Fortify yourself first.

It’s an absolutely glorious day in Sydney. The sky is the colour of Richard’s eyes, it’s warm, and the coffee is actually incredible. Taron watches the ferries come in and out from the quay, and the endless parade of seagulls begging for scraps. There are tourist traps everywhere and an old guy with white bodypaint dotted across his brown skin sitting on a rug playing a long wooden instrument with a crowd around him. Taron feels so much better than yesterday, well rested for the first time in a while, despite the disappointment of his conversation first thing. The light’s playing on the water and everything would be perfect… if only Richard were here to share it. 

It’s hard not to text Richard when he knows it’s a reasonable hour still in New York but he doesn’t want to come across as needy.

It’s late in London — after midnight— but he texts Elton anyhow. 

**(10.35am) I miss him so much it’s a physical pain in my chest. **

He isn’t really expecting a response at this hour but he’s grateful when his phone buzzes. 

_ (10.38am) Sweet boy. I know. It’s the price we pay for loving with our whole hearts. _

**(10.39am) Does it ever stop hurting?**

_ (10.40am) I miss David and the boys every second I’m on the road. But I also love what I do. It’s who I am. Be in the moment. Remember he loves you. _

**(10.40am) I’ll try. Thanks. I should let you sleep. **

_ (10.41am) Enjoy the Sydney premiere, you young devil. Say hi to Dexter for us. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. _

**(10.41am) Ha! Can’t promise. Night, old fruit. **

The soundtrack comes out today and his publicist has sent him a variety of images to use on Insta to promote it. They all feel a bit hollow, surface glamour. He flicks through [last night’s shots](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bx2GOdKlZ8i/?igshid=1jqq1andr03sl) and smiles at the cheeky look on Dexter’s face. What an excellent enabler that man is. 

He pays for his coffee and walks a little way around the other side of the Harbour, away from the crowds. In front of the art museum seems quiet enough, and when he turns the camera on himself, [he can angle it so you only see water and Opera House again](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bx38EYal7ec/?igshid=r7r38ja33kxe). He trips himself up at the end, talking about Elton, and then says “lots of love from Australia” which is 100% aimed at Richard, not gonna lie, but before he can post the video, Dexter’s calling him wondering where he is, and he heads off to Paramount Australia for a [steady stream of promo interviews](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cGJTeSoMzaU) with local stations and press. 

The Australians seem obsessed with asking him about crying at Cannes. In one, he’s asked what Elton’s magic is, whether he’s worked that out, and he finds himself [ talking about how he hopes he understands Elton, gets him, that he thinks it’s reciprocal](https://twitter.com/sunriseon7/status/1132774427429486592), without admitting anything. “The first time I met him,” he says, “It was very, very, very disarming, the nature of the conversation, and I revealed things about myself that honestly I’ve never really revealed to anyone.”

“Why?” asks the interviewer.

And Taron tilts his head, and smiles wryly. “Because he has a knack for that,” he says, and thinks of all the things he’s confided in Elton since.

And in another he’s asked, again, [what it was like making out with Richard](https://www.facebook.com/Studio10au/videos/taron-egerton-dexter-fletcher-talk-rocketman/445893726239636/), and he retorts, cheeky, “I really wish people would ask Richard Madden what it was like making out with me!” and Dexter, to his shock, says, “He told me! I know!” and boy, _ that’s_ a conversation they might need to have later.

He finally remembers to post the video in the afternoon, while he’s getting ready for the Sydney premiere. The [jacket and pants are understated compared to what he’s been wearing lately](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bx5tSscFz2Y/) but it’s Armani, and he’s really starting to love playing with colour and patterns in his shirts and this one’s no exception. It makes him think of snakeskin even though it’s actually a palm leaf motif, smooth and stylish at the same time. What a mad life it is.

The [premiere](https://www.facebook.com/ParamountPicturesAU/videos/rocketman-australian-premiere/389743321629391/) involves yet another blue carpet — he’s trying to remember the last time there was actually a boring red one — and it’s a tiny bit awkward but he has absolutely no sodding idea who any of these people are. He gets a vague sense some of them are YouTubers and that the rest are second-rate radio hosts. Where are all the Australian stars? And then he remembers — Hugh Jackman, Nicole Kidman, Naomi Watts, Guy Pearce — they’re all in LA and London, not here.

And after it’s over, he finds himself going through the motions, his head and his heart far away, as Richard and Brandon fly to Nice.

***

He wakes up early the next day and checks whether Richard has liked his video. He hasn’t… he watches it back and realises it’s missing the last 10 seconds, the important bit with his coded message for Richard. So [he posts that with a dumb caption](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bx5jkcxFE0N/?igshid=1bdhzphdzh4md), and some emojis making fun of himself, and _ that’s better_, Richard likes it within seconds. 

He opens his phone app immediately, touches Richard’s name in his favourites and grins when the call connects before it’s even really rung.

“I love you too, bonny boy,” says Richard, immediately, slightly breathless. “No matter where we are in the world.”

Taron’s heart feels full to bursting. “I wasn’t sure…” he begins. 

“What, that I’d pick up your brazen trans-Pacific declaration of adoration? What’d’ye take me for, some kind of numpty?”

And Taron just laughs, clear and happy. “How was your flight? How’s Monaco?”

“The flight was first-rate and Monaco is filthy rich and flashes it like an old perve trying to get the attention of a hot twink.”

“Ugh. That’s an image I didn’t need.”

“Exactly. But it’s also gorgeous in its own way and I can definitely see what it was…”

“I’m imagining you in your white tux in Monte Carlo, Mister Bond…”

“Now that’s an image _ I_ didn’t need. Don’t jinx me.”

“It’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Mmmm. Where are you?”

“Hotel room. Bed. You?”

“Also hotel room. Also bed. It’s almost 11pm I think? Brandon’s in the next room but I can talk dirty to you if you want…”

Taron teases his fingertips across his bare chest and breathes in, a little ragged. “I wish, but another time, love. I’ve got a flight to LA in a few hours.”

“Pity,” says Richard. “I’m naked and hard and thinking about you…”

“Richard!” exclaims Taron, mock-scandalised.

“Are you wearing my bracelet, T?” asks Richard, low.

And Taron lowers his eyes without thinking, swallows, drops his voice. “Yes, Richard.”

“Wear it for me today? Under your jacket.”

“Yes, Richard.”

“Thank you, beautiful. I need to get some sleep — fast cars and Ferrari execs in my future,” says Richard.

“Can we talk again when you wake up, Dickie?”

“Of course, my love.”

“Good night, then. Sweet dreams,” says Taron.

“Night,” says Richard and then yawns, and his chuckle cuts off half-way through as he hangs up.

***

At the airport, Taron [posts a farewell to Sydney](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bx5tSscFz2Y/) with the obligatory swag tags before he forgets to, and prepares for yet another 14-hour flight, this one with the added bonus that he’s apparently going to land before he leaves, somehow, and that just breaks his brain.

He barely sleeps on the plane.

At the other end, on his way from the airport to the hotel in LA, he sees a giant billboard advertising Queer Eye, and posts an Insta story, tagging Tan France, since he’s taken to commenting on Taron’s posts. 

Ensconced in yet another fancy suite, with a huge, soft bed, he loses a solid 16 hours to sleep — he needs it desperately but wakes up groggy and jetlagged to hell plus it’s now 2am. The only good thing about that is that it’s 11am in Monaco so he amuses himself stalking Richard’s Instagram, which is filled with stories and selfies with fast cars and hot blondes, and teasing the man via text. 

At some point Richard and Brandon and Richard’s parents are all on a yacht courtesy of Ferrari, and Richard sends him a snarky text that [ some woman’s been videoing them](https://twitter.com/1sk_m/status/1133748911464734720), followed quickly by “Brandon wagers $100 the video this lass took will be on some site called Datalounge in 15 minutes flat. I say Twitter. You in?” and Taron googles Datalounge, loses his shit, doubled over in hysterics at some of the conversation, and sends back, “Datalounge in 12 hours via Twitter,” and then Richard sends, “Brandon is cheating. Trolling the DL crew invalidates the bet, surely?” and then a few minutes later, “My ma says hallo & she thought you were grand as Elton,” and Taron texts back, “Tell her thanks & I look forward to meeting her.”

He doesn’t get back to sleep, really; dozes, restless.

As a result, he’s not particularly functional the next day either — ends up fitfully watching Netflix, responding to his email, haranguing certain people who shall not be named about _ when_ he is getting _ the_ jacket, and the response comes back that it might be in time for New York and he cannot _ wait. _

His eyes are drooping and it’s barely past 8pm.

He wakes to the phone ringing, and it’s Richard calling from Nice, about to get on the plane back and just wanting to hear his voice.

“It’s 5am, love,” he says, sleepy. 

“Oh bugger,” says Richard. “I thought it was 8! I’ve been looking at New York time to see when we arrive.” 

They work out Brandon and Richard will be Stateside at 2pm his time, 5pm Eastern and they’ll be able to watch Kimmel as it airs, probably. Taron’s flying out to New York straight after Kimmel tomorrow rather than wasting daylight and landing at 6am after a five hour flight — it’s kind of ridiculous — but they arrange to meet for breakfast at the hotel.

This time, he does get back to sleep and then wakes up to his alarm and the guy they’ve assigned to show him around will be here any minute. He hastily throws on some basics and [they head out to grab a coffee](https://twitter.com/justegerton/status/1150777448457543680?s=21) before it’s time to meet up with Gareth and get into his gear for the afternoon and organise fancy clobber for tonight.

He’s still exhausted when they arrive at Yahoo and he’s very aware he’s complete rubbish, stumbling his way through [the discussion about his process and why he loves “Your Song” the way he does](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_lOivk_kpjE&feature=youtu.be). 

Good grief, but he needs more coffee and he’s not sure there’s enough in the world. How is it possible that 30-odd hours of sleep in the space of 48 was insufficient? It’s a long interview and towards the end he’s talking about the sex scene again, and the success of the film, and he chooses his words ever so carefully. “I do feel,” he says, “that I’m dreaming…” and that’s true in more ways than one and then he can’t help but get very quiet when he’s talking about supporting people for who they are. He’s so lucky that the people in his life seem to be doing that for him so far, no questions asked.

Two coffees later, [Entertainment Weekly does one of those ‘answer tweets’ interviews](https://twitter.com/EW/status/1133482704266117120) and he thinks he does okay. “What scene would you like to shoot if you had to do it every day?” “Anything where I’m wearing hotpants.” _ (Anything where I’m kissing Richard). _ “What was your favourite thing to shoot?” “The performance pieces where I get to pretend I’m a real rockstar.” _ (Anything where I’m kissing Richard.) _ And then some bright spark asks a direct question about Richard’s eyes, and what’s he supposed to do? “They’re way off the baby to ocean blue scale,” he answers, “and they’ve shot right off to the height of Frank Sinatra-level blue.”

In every interview that day, he talks about the rapidly dwindling hours before he gets his _ jacket _— has to keep the pressure up, right?

He has a quick snooze and [arrives at the studio for Kimmel](http://www.zimbio.com/pictures/CHM0YvNrma2/Taron+Egerton+Jimmy+Kimmel+Live) feeling surprisingly solid, considering, and he changes into the gorgeous etro jacket (and who knew he would be falling in love with _ suits _ and clothing brands? But it’s a whole thing). The show might be called “Jimmy Kimmel Live!” but it’s not — it pre-records at 5pm like everything else. He feels energised — it’s way easier to perform with an audience than in an almost empty room with an interviewer — and [ the questions are predictable for the most part](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEbBevuDslQ), so his answers are mostly rehearsed set pieces and he knows how to do this with his eyes closed. Although, Jeez, what is it with these interviewers asking him intimate things about Elton? _ Hello, folks, not going to betray my new friend’s trust, nice try though. _ But he does end up talking about the note Elton left him on the day of the premiere, and the audience _awwws_ appropriately, and he remembers he really is blessed. The question about Elton’s will is completely out of line though.

When everything’s said and done, he grabs some dinner and then gets in the car for the airport. On the way, he phones Richard because it’s after midnight in New York so the show will have aired already and then has to switch to FaceTime because he needs to _ see him_.

“Was it okay?” he asks, immediately, nervous.

“You knocked it out of the park, love,” Richard says and the praise sinks in and settles Taron, like solid ground again after turbulence.

“Kind of you to say, Dickie. Felt good though. I was rubbish in the other ones today.”

“I’m sure you weren’t. Quite liked hearing you talk about our love scene…” says Richard.

“Well,” says Taron, “what else am I supposed to call it?”

“Oh, I am definitely not complaining, darling.”

“I can’t believe I’m finally going to see you tomorrow. I know we’ve spoken every day, but I miss you so much.” Taron feels like a fool, but he strokes his thumb down Richard’s face on the screen.

“Not long now, T,” says Richard, and Taron can hear his own longing reflected back. “Going to wrap you up so tight. Love you, Taron Egerton.”

“I love you too, Richard Madden.” And they just gaze at each other for a while, then Taron says, “We’re pulling into the airport — better head off.”

And Richard says, “I’ll see you in the morning. Try to get some rest.”

And Taron says, “I will.” 

***

Richard shoulders his way into the hotel room the moment Taron opens the door, pushes Taron against the wall, boxes him in, breathes him in. “Mine,” he growls, and Taron’s breath catches and all the blood in his body goes straight to his cock. 

“God, yes, _ Richard_,” moans Taron, light-headed all of a sudden, a little shocked.

“I want to hear you say it, Taron.” He’s on fire, the pulsing in his blood so loud.

“Yours,” Taron whispers, lowering his eyes to Richard’s mouth and he can feel the way his whole body trembles with it.

And Richard kisses him then, fierce and possessive, like it’s been an eternity rather than a week.

When Richard pulls back, Taron’s lips are ever so slightly sore from Richard’s little nips and bites, and he feels well snogged. He sways towards Richard for a moment, before remembering where he is.

“Hi,” he says, smoothing a hand through his hair.

“Hello,” says Richard, grinning. “I trust you had a good flight?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess. So… er… what’s the plan then?”

“We have about an hour and then we’re meeting Brandon for breakfast. Sound good?”

“Sounds so good, Richard,” sighs Taron, and he steps in close, leans back into it when Richard puts a hand on his neck, and bends his mouth to lick a stripe up Taron’s neck and whispers, “Then I want you out of those clothes and into that bed immediately, darling…”

Taron hesitates for a split second, and Richard looks at him curiously. “What is it, love?”

“It’s nothing,” says Taron, “It’s silly.” And he’s completely aware that his craving for touch is what gets him into trouble on red carpets, that he can’t help himself with his hands all over everyone all the time.

“No such thing. Tell me.”

Taron resolves to be brave. “I… can we… would you just hold me, to start with?”

“Oh, duckie. Of course I will. I still want your kit off for that, though. If that’s okay?”

“More than. I just… I don’t want it to just be prurient…”

“Have I told you how much your enormous brain turns me on?” laughs Richard. “There I am listening to you on Kimmel and you say things like ‘nebulous’ and I swoon…”

Taron swats Richard on the shoulder for that, but takes him by the hand and leads him to the bedroom. They stand, facing each other in the morning light, and gently take each other’s clothes off. When they’re both nude, they climb under the covers, and Taron tangles his legs up with Richard, and Richard slides one arm under Taron. They’re hip to hip and chest to chest, and they trade lazy kisses in between talking about their journeys, and the quality of the light on Sydney Harbour, the sweetness of bingsu and the metallic tang and roar of the track.

Richard strokes his free hand up and down Taron’s body, and Taron wraps Richard up, like he’s trying to memorise the man. They’re both hard but it’s not urgent… 

In a quiet moment, Taron confesses, “I haven’t come since London…” and Richard raises his head from where it was resting on Taron’s chest, and searches his eyes. 

“Wow, T… that’s… we didn’t really talk about…”

“It’s okay. It’s not something I need a lot. It never really occurs to me unless you’re right there, or sometimes if I can’t get you out of my head.”

Taron squirms against Richard, hot flesh trapped between them, and a bolt goes through him. “But now that you’re here again…” He ruts up against Richard’s thigh. “Well… ahhh…”

Richard smiles, and presses back against him, a slow roll of his hips. “Yes, Taron?”

“I’d quite like you to fuck me.”

“And I’d quite like to oblige you.”

“I want to feel you all day today, Richard. And all through tonight.”

Richard moans and suddenly there’s intent and heat in his eyes. He surges up to kiss Taron more fiercely now, both his hands shifting up Taron’s wrists and pinning him to the bed — it’s magnificent, he feels _ expansive_, weirdly liberated. Richard kisses down Taron’s cheek to his earlobe, nibbles and nips and murmurs, “Oh, you’ll feel me…” and he punctuates his sentence with a thrust of his stiff prick between Taron’s thighs and Taron lifts his hips off the bed to meet him.

Richard leans over to the bed side table to get the lube and Taron takes the opportunity to roll over onto his front, looks back over his shoulder at Richard. The anticipation in his belly rises at how exposed he feels doing this, not just the position but asking for what he wants at all. And then Richard is opening him up, and he starts to float already, writhing with the intensity, shuffles up onto his knees, spreads his hips wide so Richard can just slide two fingers into him now, and from far away, he hears Richard say, “So goddamn _ beautiful_ you are… look at you, on your knees for me…” and he hums in agreement.

Then he’s empty again — and he almost cries out at the loss, but he feels the blunt head of Richard’s cock at his entrance, and he moans, “Yes… do it…” and then Richard is sliding into him, in one smooth motion, filling him, stretching him, and he feels so loved, so _ held_, and then Richard pulls back out and thrusts in again, slow but steady. “Richard…” moans Taron. “_Take me_,” and Richard groans, “_Fuck_, Taron,” pulls back and just fucks in hard, and it’s _ everything_. Taron is grunting, “_Fuck. Yes. God. Fuck. Ohhh. YES. Fuck!!_” in time with every stroke and Richard is gasping, “_So. Gorgeous. So. Gorgeous.”_ Taron’s being shoved up the bed with the force of it until he reaches forward and just holds onto the head of the bed, pushing back to meet Richard over and over, and then Richard pants, “I’m going to… _ Taron…_” and Taron says, “Please, Richard, _ fuck_, can I touch myself, I want to come, please…” and Richard says, “Yes, gorgeous, beautiful boy…” and then Taron is pumping his cock and spilling white pulses onto the bed and convulsing around Richard and Richard is thrusting erratic into Taron’s tight heat and coming and coming.

After they’ve cleaned up, and they’re snuggled up again, Richard says, “Ye dinna ken how stunning y’are, do ye?”

And Taron stares at him, says “Did you just…” and it’s Richard’s turn to swat at him, says, laughing, “Not my fault if you make me lose my goddamn mind. Haud yer wheesht.”

“_Dwi'n caru ti,_” murmurs Taron, infinitely soft.

“I know that one,” says Richard. “I love you, too.”


	3. lately, I’ve been thinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taron and Brandon finally meet, and it's not as awkward as you'd expect; Richard reveals he’s been coy with the New York Times; soft boys are soft and compersion is lovely; the cast and crew present their film to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences and the BAFTA folks in New York on the same day as the US Premiere — whose idea was that?? Jamie isn't getting a lot of sleep. 
> 
> A short and sweet interlude from Richard's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such a lovely time writing this chapter. This is what polyamory feels like to me when it's working really well, and I hope you all have a warm glow reading it too. 
> 
> As usual, so many thanks to [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus) and Em for beta reading. Em isn't really part of this fandom but is poly and so it was lovely having her squee about all the compersion. C doesn't really like Brandon but has recently become obsessed with a certain tap-dancer and so it was lovely having _her_ squee about Jamie. All remaining errors are mine.

Richard’s smug as they head down in the elevator to meet Brandon. He’s not exactly enjoying Taron’s discomfort but he loves that he’s the one responsible for the wobbly legs and the tender rear. 

And while Taron might not be used to this, Brandon knew exactly what would be going on upstairs while he had his first coffee, so there’s nothing to be coy about. Richard spots Brandon at a discreet table up the back and gives a little wave. Brandon waves back and pushes his chair back to stand up and greet Taron properly.

“Taron!” he says, offering his hand. “Thanks so much for making time. I know the schedule is hectic as hell.”

Taron laughs, awkward, and shakes Brandon’s hand. “You’re thanking _ me _?”

They sit, and signal to a server, order coffees.

“To be fair,” says Brandon, “you kinda had, like, first dibs? You just didn’t know it? Or at least, that’s my understanding.”

“Oi!” says Richard, chuckling, “New rule. No fighting over who saw me first.” 

The coffees arrive. Taron has to admit he’s never seen _13 Reasons Why_ and Brandon admits he’s never seen _ Kingsman_, so they’re even. Taron asks how they met and discovers it was through Michael Braun, the property guy, who Taron vaguely knows too. Michael’s always seemed incredibly well connected, which makes sense. Brandon’s blushing a little as he recounts how shamelessly he flirted with Richard, thinking he had no chance, and how bowled over he was when Richard flirted back.

“So when was this?” asks Taron. “I’ve been trying to work out when you had time, Dickie.”

“We met at a party in London… and we were texting a fair bit… and then literally the day after we wrapped in October, I flew over to see whether there was something real there…” says Richard. 

“I couldn’t believe my luck,” murmurs Brandon, ducking his head a little.

“And I couldn’t believe mine,” says Richard, affectionate and warm. Brandon looks back up and they gaze into each other's eyes for a moment, like they'd fall into the crystal-clear pool of the other if they could.

Taron has a sense he ought to feel jealous, but it’s not there. That would have been just after the Carpool Karaoke. He remembers how Richard looked at him then and what he’d thought, how he’d acted. Richard loved Taron then but had no indication at all his feelings were returned. And there was Brandon, offering to love him back.

He smiles at the thought. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m genuinely really happy for you.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Taron,” says Brandon. “That’s partly why I wanted us to meet. For you to see us, together, see that I genuinely love Richard. And for you to see that I know he loves you too. That you two have something special as well, and I’m not going to come between you. Wait, that sounded way dirtier than it was meant to…”

And then they’re all laughing, and just like that, the awkwardness is gone.

“So, there’s an interview coming out in a few days that you should know about,” says Richard, out of the blue.

“Oh, yeah?” says Taron, raising an eyebrow when Richard looks at Brandon for assent. Brandon nods.

“New York Times,” says Richard. “Sat down with them at Cannes. They put in a request to ask about the pap shots in April and B and I discussed it and decided to let them ask.”

“It’s exactly the same line we asked you to hold to,” says Brandon. “But the stans will go crazy — because Rich isn’t denying anything.”

“It’ll be the same thing I’ve said about every relationship I’ve ever had — that I don’t discuss my relationships…”

“… which means you’re acknowledging that this is just like every other relationship you’ve ever had…” says Taron, slowly.

“Exactly,” says Richard. “So things are going to get hectic. We think. I don’t imagine anyone will ask _ you _ about it, but if they do, do you have an idea of what you’d want to say?”

“I should imagine I can honestly say that I don’t comment on the private lives of my friends,” Taron says, and then laughs. “Although I mentioned you, obliquely, in an interview yesterday, as it happens.”

“What’d’ye mean?” asks Richard, cautious.

“I referred to ‘brilliant artists who manage to retain a bit of privacy’ in the harsh spotlight of the Internet age,” says Taron, “and I was thinking of you.”

“Were you now?” Richard smiles. “Idiot,” he says, fond. “And if they ask about you and me?”

“I doubt they will, but if they do, I’ll say I have a new rule I’ve borrowed from someone very dear to me, and that I no longer discuss my relationships…”

“Oh my god,” breathes Brandon. “Please, please let someone ask you. I’ll post that article to Datalounge _ myself_.”

***

Taron did not get a lot of sleep last night what with the late flight and the time change, so he heads back upstairs for a nap. Richard and Brandon have some time to kill before Richard is required at MoMA for the official screening of the film for the Academy and then later for the BAFTA folks. 

They’d go for a walk but agreed they wouldn’t give the paps any more fodder until after the NYT article comes out, so instead they head back to their own hotel room.

Behind closed doors, Richard pulls Brandon in for a hug and kisses him, slow and dirty.

“You’re amazing,” he says. “Thank you. You okay?”

“I’m fine, honey. Thanks for worrying about me, but I’m fine. _ You _ clearly had fun this morning though. You could see the blush on that man from the moon! So cute.”

“Uh… yes. My quads got quite the work out…” says Richard, grinning.

“Did they? Well, I completely understand. He’s _ lovely_, sweetheart. And he’s besotted with you.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Richard sighs happily. 

“I’m glad he’s going to be part of our family, darling.”

“God, you’re incredible. Why didn’t anyone tell me about polyamory in my twenties? I would have gotten into much less trouble and had way more fun,” pouts Richard, mostly joking but a tad dirty about it. 

“Kinda glad they didn’t…” says Brandon. “I might never have gotten to have you…” And Richard kisses him again, sweet. 

***

People talk about awards and Richard never really listens but the Oscar buzz for Taron on this feels a little bit surreal. After a year in which he’s gotten both a Golden Globe and an NTA award and presented at the BAFTAs, walking into the official screening of his latest film for the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences should feel less weird than it does, but honestly, if this ever gets old, it’s probably time to retire. Richard stands next to the giant golden statue to be photographed and catches Dexter’s eye. There’s probably some superstition about how not to jinx this thing and he’s probably already stuffed it.

Then he catches sight of Taron and he’s gobsmacked. Taron is wearing the Tiny Dancer jacket and looks like the cat who got the cream. His hair is slicked up and he’s wearing transparent glasses frames and honest-to-god 12-hole cherry red Doc Martens boots and Richard’s James Dean crush just flared back to life with a vengeance. He’s glad they’ve established the public bromance to the point where no one blinks when he wraps the man up in an enormous hug. They don’t know it’s only been hours since he was shagging the boy senseless. He takes the opportunity to whisper in Taron’s ear. “Fuck but you look _ sooo fucking gorgeous_, the things I want to do to you.” And Taron, the cheeky fuck, leans back and pops a kiss onto Richard’s forehead, and says, out loud, “Good to see you, Dickie!”

It’s good to see Jamie as well — they’ve missed him on the road and lord, but doesn’t he look exhausted.

“Not getting a lot of kip, then, Jamie boy?” laughs Richard.

“Babies. Ridiculous way to start human beings. Good thing she’s adorable,” responds Jamie, giving Richard a hug. 

They take [photo after photo, separate and together, in various configurations](http://www.zimbio.com/pictures/QaOOPd8mhxe/Academy+Motion+Picture+Arts+Sciences+Hosts/browse), Matthew and Dexter slotted in between them sometimes. And then some with Patrick Harrison, the program director for AMPAS in New York and Richard’s not the tall one any more. They all shuffle into the Celeste Bartos Theatre and take their seats for the screening — trying to gauge what the bigwigs are thinking and it’s the first time Jamie’s seen it with the effects and the full music mix.

The applause is gratifying, as always, and Jamie leans in to him and says, “I’m never going to be able to listen to “Take Me to the Pilot” without thinking about you and Taron, now, you know. And it were my favourite song, dammit.” Richard just laughs, and pats him on the shoulder.

“Sorry, not sorry…” he says, as they head backstage, ready for the Q&A.

“Seriously, though,” says Jamie. “I’m happy for you. I can’t say I understand it — I’m a jealous type, I am, couldn’t do it — but you all seem good, and Taron was miserable before, and he’s not now, so…”

Richard looks sharply at Jamie. That’s new information — he’d known Taron had been pining but ‘miserable’ is a strong word. That explains a few things, actually. He looks across to where Taron is chatting with Bryce, all smiles. “He’s not, no. Appreciate your support, man.” He drops his voice; they’re not alone, but there’s hubbub and no one will know he’s not talking about Brandon. “I love him,” he says, simply. “I’m going to take care of him.”

“I know, man,” says Jamie. “I know.”

And then it’s time: they’re on stage in front of the fancy red curtain, doing a Q&A and Richard’s miffed on one hand that he’s sat between Matthew and Bryce and, on the other, glad that he can’t get distracted gazing adoringly at Taron’s gorgeous head. He’s seen the press shots from Cannes… it’s a little embarrassing how openly he wears his emotions given he’s supposed to be a good actor, for heaven’s sake.

Then that’s done and they’re all bundled into cars to get to the Lincoln Center for the red carpet of the US premiere and Richard is not sure whose idea it was to _ also _ have a screening at BAFTA New York at pretty much the _ same time on the same day _ but if he understands correctly, they’re doing red carpet, interviews before the 7pm screening in Alice Tully Hall, then getting in cars for a 30-minute drive to the [ BAFTA screening, doing a Q&A post-screening there (with the same moderator from the afternoon](http://www.bafta.org/new-york/whats-on/member-screening-rocketman), so that’ll be easy) and then heading to the official after party near Central Park and he’s incredibly glad he just has to go where he’s told and smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ADDITIONAL NOTE: The bit about Jamie not seeing the full musical mix until New York would not exist without a late night conversation with C where she linked me to an interview around May 20 with Jamie saying he didn't know if _Take Me to the Pilot_ was in the movie. We now know from the digital extras that TMTTP was a very late addition by Dexter and Giles, so we figure he didn't see the film till New York. Credit where credit is due folks!


	4. living like a lusty flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taron gets himself a new jacket; Taron and Richard and Jamie attend the US Premiere of Rocketman; absolutely everyone who's anyone — including Brandon — attend the after-party at Tavern on the Green; Taron is on a right proper natural high — right up until he realises they're all going their separate ways again soon.
> 
> A short step back in time because we needed to see the jacket from Taron's POV...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes a short step back in time, so there is overlap with the timeline in Chapter 3. Hopefully it's all clear and not confusing.
> 
> Thanks as always to heavensfallingaroundus and em for beta reading; all remaining errors are mine. Thanks to [WWD](https://wwd.com/eye/parties/rocketman-new-york-premiere-elton-john-1203143193/) and [Variety](https://variety.com/2019/scene/news/rocketman-premiere-elton-john-taron-egerton-bernie-taupin-1203228832/) for the detailed descriptions of the premiere and after party.

Taron’s woken from his nap feeling amazing. The meeting with Brandon was way less fraught than he’d expected. Pleasant, even. 

Lunch is with Dex and the PR director of Paramount New York, so Taron’s set for it to be a working lunch, talking about the next lot of media and maybe some out-there idea they need to clear with him. When he sees Julian Day and Gareth Scourfield are with them as well, he’s a bit surprised, but he starts to hope. And then he sees what is casually slung over the fifth chair and he practically sprints the rest of the way to the table.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Are you fucking joking? Oh my god. Oh my _ god_.” They’re all grinning at him as he plucks the jacket off and holds it up. 

“Congratulations, Taron,” says Louise Kaufman. “You are now the proud owner of a Julian Day original.”

“Thank you. So much,” says Taron. “When you said yesterday that I could have it today, I almost didn’t let myself believe it.”

“To be fair, I think they’ve given in so you’ll stop pestering them rather than out of any sense of generosity…” says Dexter and Louise says, “No, of course not…” but smiles widely and nods _ yes _ emphatically and they all chuckle. 

“So, we were thinking, Taron,” says Gareth, “that you could wear it tonight. I’ve got some ideas…”

“Do they involve cherry-red Docs, Gareth? Because I need them to involve cherry-red Docs,” Taron says. Julian grins at him, proud.

“If you’re okay with me pairing that with Armani pants and a plain white Tee, we’re in business,” says Gareth.

“Is no one else hungry?” asks Julian, and talk turns to the menu, and the afternoon ahead.

***

As Taron laces up all 12 holes of the Doc Martens, he’s once again struck with how surreal his life has become. He’s actual, genuine friends with Elton God-Amongst-Queens John; he’s the star of what’s turning out to be a critical _ and _ a box-office success; he’s fit and he’s healthy and if he says so himself, [ he looks a million dollars in these boots and these pants and this _ goddamned incredible jacket _ ](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByELYPCAmHv/) that he still can’t believe is his; and to top it all off, he can still feel the twinge in his arse where his utterly gorgeous lover fucked him boneless, just how he wanted it.

He does a turn for Gareth, who casts a critical eye over him and then pulls out a set of Retro Super Future glasses with clear plastic rims, holds them up for approval. 

“Sure,” Taron says. “Love me some specs these days, ripping choice.” And he pops them on, admires the effect. “Solid, my friend. You’ve nailed it again.”

“What can I say, I have an excellent canvas to work with. You were right about the footwear — inspired.”

“All right, then, Mister Scourfield. Let’s go shill for an Oscar, then, shall we?” And he calls for the car, and heads over to MoMA, bouncing a little with the excitement of showing Richard his new gear.

The look on the man’s face is definitely worth it. If he’s honest, a good portion of why he wants the jacket is because he’s an incurable romantic, and it’s this jacket Richard first called him gorgeous in, and it’s this jacket he was wearing when they first sat down on set and Taron stared into Richard’s eyes and felt a stirring of something that wasn’t Elton John and John Reid, something that has now blossomed into this magical connection. _ Lit the blue touch paper_, indeed. 

Richard leans over to him and whispers into his ear, “Fuck but you look _ sooo fucking gorgeous_, the things I want to do to you,” and that sends a full body shiver down Taron, but he has to pretend he’s not just clenched into morning memories, so he leans back and pops a kiss onto Richard’s forehead, and says, far too loud, he’s sure of it, “Good to see you, Dickie!”

He doesn’t mean to, but for the rest of the afternoon, he keeps a little distance — chats with Dex, and Bryce and Matthew. Has to duck his head at one point when Bryce leans close and says, “You’re positively _ glowing_, Taron. What’s going on?” and he says blithely, “We’re showing our film to the Oscars people and I’ve finally got the jacket, what else needs to be going on?”

When the Q&A finishes, around 4.30pm, he heads to the cars that will take them to the Lincoln Centre. They’ve got a pit stop for drinks and refreshments for about half an hour and then red carpet, [ officially starting at 5.30pm ](https://wwd.com/eye/parties/rocketman-new-york-premiere-elton-john-1203143193/) but who’s counting? He can’t wait to see Bernie, [ who commented on his Kimmel post with “See you in NY, brother”](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByB8yNRFBRq/), and he greets him in the green room with a long hug, and a trademark temple kiss.

Before he heads down to the maddening crowd, he poses for a shot with Gavin, and posts it to Insta. [ “New York. Blast off,” he writes. “Got me a new jacket.” ](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByEAfkTl_p0/) and of course Richard and Brandon both like that, which no one should read anything into because the photo is _ smoking _ — of course it bloody is, Gavin is a _ genius_.

Richard and Taron and Jamie end up heading down together shortly after Bernie does, but it takes them a lot longer to traverse the length of the actual carpet, thanks to fans. The atmosphere is incredible, again, as always. Richard stops for selfies with what seems like every fan in the pit, and Taron is signing autographs. Whoever keeps supplying people with cut-outs of his head on a stick really needs a talking to, because that shit is bloody weird.

In between all of that, there are so many friends to greet. Tan France and Antoni Porowski walk the carpet holding hands, which is adorable, and he greets them both warmly. “Love the _ look_, darling,” gushes Tan, and Taron says, modest, “Don’t give me the credit — this is all Gareth.”

Dex and David are giving interviews ahead of them, and then David’s admiring the jacket too.

Billie Jean King is hanging out with David — she and her wife were at the dinner at Elton’s in December with Richard, so he’s not entirely surprised when she greets him very familiarly and then [ ropes him in for a selfie](https://twitter.com/BillieJeanKing/status/1133872412037173250). “You know I was on stage with Elton at Dodger Stadium?” she says to him. 

“Were you?” he says, “That’s amazing. Sorry, I don’t think you’re in our version, though, couldn’t find anyone lovely enough to play you…” and she’s generous enough to laugh at him, indulgent, and wave him on his way. Darren Criss is there, and he hasn’t seen him since the Met Gala so that’s another lovely catch up, but they’ll see each other at the after party so he doesn’t linger.

Richard [ bails him up against the wall ](http://m.zimbio.com/photos/Taron+Egerton/Rocketman+New+York+Premiere/86ow_L9WRZL) towards the end of it. “Still feeling it?” he asks, and strokes Taron’s wrist, casual. Taron grins and [ hugs him tightly ](https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/news-photo/english-actor-taron-egerton-embraces-scottish-actor-richard-news-photo/1146928120) as he says back, “Constantly… just how I’d hoped.”

They finally take the stage for the Q&A — weirdly _ before _ the film because of the bizarre dash they have to do to get to [ BAFTA NY to do the Q&A after _ their _ screening](http://www.bafta.org/new-york/our-events/screening-qas/rocketman). Taron is riding high on everyone’s energy and as he bounces across the stage and passes Richard, [ he just has to reach out to him and hold his hand](https://bowtiedino.tumblr.com/post/186840402620/i-love-how-taron-just-holds-richards-hands-and), for far too long, while he grabs the microphone from Dex, and he’s seriously on top of the world. He clears his throat. “Hi, everybody,” he says, and someone wolf whistles. “I thought I’d keep it low-key this evening, you know?” Laughter. “We’ve worked incredibly hard to bring this movie to the big screen, we’ve poured our hearts and souls into it…” and he means every word of it.

Elton isn’t here tonight, but Bernie is, and the man is just not celebrated enough, so Taron makes a point of welcoming him. “This movie’s not just about Elton John,” he says, right before the film begins. “It’s also about the legend that is Mister Bernie Taupin,” and he smiles at the man as the theatre erupts into applause. “Hope you enjoy.”

***

He changes his jacket for the after party — the idea someone could spill beer on his precious patched denim does _ not _ bear thinking about. But because he’s a liberated man now, the fresh jacket is [ still swish af](https://variety.com/2019/scene/news/rocketman-premiere-elton-john-taron-egerton-bernie-taupin-1203228832/). 

The party is at Tavern on the Green — high ceilings, exposed beams, New York doing elegant — but the food is chicken and beef sliders, which go well with his Peroni but aren’t a patch on the London nosh. The disco balls at the entrance clash. Someone has set up a photo booth with a grand piano, Elton specs and various other dress-up accessories. It’s kind of tacky but he’s unsurprised that’s where a lot of folks pose for the cameras. Obviously he doesn’t. He also avoids the cocktails — he doesn’t want to know what makes the Blue Jean Baby blue.

It’s a terrific night, despite that, mostly because of the people. They’ve got a bit of a core crew going, him and Richard and Jamie, and of course Brandon’s there and Dex and Bryce, and weaving in and out of that are Darren and Rami and Tan, and all the well-wishers who wander over from David’s crew, and it’s just incredible, riding the high of the day.

Gavin takes some absolutely wicked shots and around 11.30pm, he’s drunk enough to [ post one to insta](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByElAqaF_EQ/?igshid=1qo8jgaa43mlv), “my John and Bernie,” he writes, like the sook he is. David Walliams — one of Elton’s mates — comments “dream cast” and Gavin himself says, “Looks like trouble” and “thanks for a very special night”. 

He grabs another beer off the bar and raises it to Dex, nods his everlasting gratitude. He swigs the cold ale, and heads back into the throng. 

A few hours later, Taron catches Richard’s eye and jerks his head back towards the corridor behind them. Richard nods, and Taron can see him start to make his excuses. Taron heads back into the darker space to wait for the man.

“Hey,” says Richard when he gets close. Taron reaches out, tangles their fingers together at their sides.

“Hey,” he says. “I need to get going, I’m knackered.”

“Course you are.”

“I probably won’t get to see you tomorrow… I wanted to say a proper goodbye.”

Richard caresses Taron’s cheek with his free hand, safe in the shadows, drops his hand to the bracelet at Taron’s wrist. He leans in, and kisses Taron, sweet and deep, slow and loving. His lips are warm and soft against Taron’s. Taron sighs into it, and they just kiss for a while, comfortable, so soft.

When they pull back, Taron says, “So, I’m off to San Francisco tomorrow afternoon and then LA again… where are you two?”

“We’re off to London from here and then back to LA… not sure if we’ll overlap with you. But then we’ve got a holiday planned in Italy after fashion week.”

“Sounds cosy…” says Taron, and he’s already halfway feeling his way into that heartache he had in Sydney, imagining weeks without this closeness, this contact.

“Hey,” says Richard again. “Where did you go, just then? I love you.” Richard kisses Taron again, firm, deep, a little possessive. “You’re _ mine_. And when we’re apart, if you start to feel adrift, you need to let me know, okay? I take care of what’s mine.”

Taron nods, dumb. He can feel the tears prickle behind his eyes. He’s tired and emotional. He rests his forehead against Richard’s, just breathing him in, fingers intertwined. He kisses Richard again, pours it all into that press of mouth against mouth, the warmth of their breath mingling, tongues sliding gentle against each other, no hurry to be anywhere at 2am in a dark corridor at their own after party. 

“I love you. I’ll call you tomorrow,” Taron says. “Get _ some _ sleep, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best,” Richard laughs, “But I heard Brandon and Darren talk about going dancing, after, so I may be roped into that…”

“I wish I was feeling up to joining you.”

“Come say goodbye to everyone, yeah?

And he does. 

On the way back in the car, he posts one last Gavin shot, of [ him and Dex and Rami](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByE3MOkFalb/). Elton and Freddie, he thinks. Sharon and Melina. And he thinks about closets and secret lives and legacies, and wonders, not for the first time, what the future holds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Billie Jean King for [writing about being at Dodger Stadium](https://twitter.com/BillieJeanKing/status/1134068277704056832?s=20) and Elton for posting this [unbelievably awesome video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8JRwGzXhaI) to prove it.
> 
> Thank you to Taron for whatever that was you were doing with Richard's hand on stage at the Premiere. Love you, you great dork.
> 
> And for those who might not know, Sharon and Melina were [Elton and Freddie's drag names for each other](https://ew.com/movies/2019/05/31/rami-malek-taron-egerton-bohemian-rhapsody-rocketman/). We miss you, Freddie. Wish you were here.


	5. my arms around your shoulders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone except Taron ends up singing raucously together at the after-after-party; it's ridiculous, Taron should be here, he's the singer; shhh, Richard has a crush on Alexander Skarsgard; Darren Criss invites Richard and Brandon back to his place to get stoned; next day, Richard and Brandon listen to music and get it on; Richard has a scathingly brilliant idea.
> 
> Richard's POV of the what happened after the US Premiere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit weird to finally get to this chapter. When I first posted on tumblr about writing this third part of the Bromance series, I thought Brandon had left New York after the pap shots at the hotel and was not at the US Premiere of Rocketman. I was swiftly corrected by a number of enthusiastic Maddlynn stans who informed me that no, Brandon and Richard had gone to Monaco from New York and then definitely come back for the Premiere and linked me to the fabulous selfie that Nina took of her, Mia, Darren and Brandon with Richard in the background. It could be at Marie's Crisis, the bar they most definitely went to after the official after-party — but to me, it looked more intimate, and so that's how I've written it. I hope I've done this section justice for you, Maddlynn stans! :-) I hope I've got Brandon's characterisation okay.
> 
> If you want to see Darren Criss, Shailene Woodley and Laura Dern singing their hearts out, definitely click on the links in that section. 
> 
> Thanks to the folks at Datalounge for linking me to Brandon's playlist of songs for Richard.
> 
> This chapter contains Maddlynn porn, which I know will thrill some people and annoy others. Please be nice to each other in the comments — we accept all ships here.
> 
> As always, I want to thank [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus) and Em for beta reading. I know I can be stubborn and particular, but you make my work better and I'm so grateful.

“Okay!” says Brandon, leaning out the window. “There’s room for one more in this car… Who’s it gonna be, kids?” 

“Orright, hold your horses,” says Dex, before turning back and pumping someone’s hands warmly, saying, “Yes, yes, definitely, let’s talk soon!” And then he climbs in the back next to Richard and they’re off.

Darren Criss has declared they’re all headed for Marie’s Crisis, a tiny piano bar in the Village which was _the _gay place to be before it got popular and the hipsters discovered it. The important thing is that it’s open until 4am on a Saturday, and they’re going to drink more beer and belt out showtunes. 

There’s a line outside the place when they get there, but needless to say, they’re ushered right in — even if he wasn’t with Brandon, who’s arguably more well-known than Richard is in this town, Darren is a regular and his cab arrives right behind theirs.

Apparently, the Big Little Lies Season 2 launch was in the next hall to them at the Lincoln Center and Darren’s invited that crew as well — Laura Dern is here, and Shailene Woodley, and Alex Skarsgard. For all that he’s just been at his own premiere, Richard’s feeling a mite starstruck. 

Shailene comes over and congratulates him on _ Rocketman_, and he says, laughing, “Come back to me when you’ve seen it!” and she gives him a funny look and says, “I have! I was at the Cannes premiere…” and he’s falling over himself to apologise, awkward as hell, because he has almost no memories of any other human beings that night, so entirely swept up in Taron and Dex and Elton and Bernie. Naturally, she’s understanding and kind, but he’s still kicking himself mentally.

Then there’s a beer in his hand, and he’s propped himself up against a wall chatting with Michael Braun, and watching Brandon laughing over something with Darren’s wife Mia and their friend Nina, who’s also an actress. It doesn’t take long for Darren to work his way over to the piano, to a loud round of cheers, and then [the whole place is singing Free Fallin’](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByO13jenO-D/?igshid=qk8kriqpk15b) [at the tops of their lungs](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByOdzcvh6kq/?igshid=1jcgxke19x32p). Richard suddenly wishes Taron hadn’t slacked off. He would be absolutely loving this — belting out covers in a tiny basement bar is _so_ his scene.

Brandon works his way back over to Richard and leans back against him, singing, “And all the bad boys… are standing in the shadows…” and Richard laughs at him, good natured. He even gives in and sings, “Yeah, I’m free — free fallin’…” as he wraps his arms over Brandon’s shoulders.

They all applaud wildly when the song’s done and Darren stands up and bows ironically. Brandon goes to get more beers, and Alex Skarsgard comes over.

“I loved _ Bodyguard_!” he says. “Terrific work.”

“Thank you so much. And likewise,” Richard says. “I mean, I loved _ Big Little Lies_. Confronting material.”

He’s flashing back to Alex starkers in _ True Blood _ and his incredible physique in _ Tarzan_, and sure, he’s got a bit of a crush, but he can handle himself.

“Intense. Incredibly challenging. But with a scene partner as generous as Nicole…” says Alex. 

And Richard says, “Absolutely. You won’t have seen it yet, but I had the same with Taron…” and then they’re talking about craft and emotion and what you do to recover after a scene where you’ve just hit someone you care about as a human being.

***

It’s 5am and they’re back at Darren’s place, just the core crew who headed out of Marie’s laughing into the pre-dawn when the bar closed, but nowhere near ready to let the night be done. 

Richard feels content and settled, quietly stoned. He’s tired but deeply happy, like his entire life has been leading up to this, the tail end of press for an incredible film about an incredible man, meeting not one but two men he loves dearly, surrounded by friends and on the cusp of being an actual Marvel superhero. Well, are the Eternals superheroes? Maybe that’s not quite right. 

He takes the joint when it’s passed to him and draws the smoke in deep, passes it on to Darren who’s perched on the arm of the sofa next to him. Brandon and Nina are talking about music and then someone connects a speaker and they’re playing songs for each other. Richard recognises some that Brandon added to that [ playlist he made for him ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1C9RLbb57EeveQPsJeY5gf?si=-UFtnuhER4-_PIgUV96rzA) and he strokes over Brandon’s shoulder, smiles warmly at the man. 

Brandon looks back at Richard on the couch, reaches up and squeezes his hand, goes back to his conversation. 

Darren leans down to him. “All good? Get you anything?”

“I’m fine,” says Richard. “Fantastic.” He can’t help the broad smile, and the glance down at Brandon again. 

Darren grins at him. “I’m so glad you two are happy. When I saw you at the Globes, it was still so new — and then he wasn’t with you at the Met Gala…”

Richard grins back. “Almost seven months now.”

“I don’t like to speak ill of people who aren’t here to defend themselves…” starts Darren, carefully.

“Then don’t,” says Richard. Sam’s someone he knows too; not well, but London is smaller than people think. He changes the topic. “Tell me, how’s _ marriage_?” and he ribs Darren, so he almost falls onto the floor and then they’re giggling like idiots.

Richard gets up to get another drink after all, and so Darren picks himself up and goes to check how the others are doing, gets roped into [ a selfie that Nina’s taking](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByFuNjZni8U/?igshid=fx9lk28pd3mg).

And then as the sun comes up over Manhattan, Richard leans over and whispers to Brandon, “Time to go, lover,” and he caresses Brandon’s slim butt and nibbles his earlobe. Brandon looks back at him and smiles, soft and dreamy, kisses him on the cheek and then toes Darren in the thigh, half shoving him, and says, “We’re off — don’t be a stranger, okay?” And they all stand up, and Mia and Nina are both trying to make them stay for breakfast, but Richard demurs, and then they stumble out into a cab and back to their hotel, exchanging looks and letting the tension grow between them, hitched breath every so often, eyes wandering, suggestive.

***

In the lift, Brandon plays with the edge of his shirt, lifting it slightly, plays at checking his hair out in the mirrored wall, and Richard laughs at him, flicks him on the hip. In the room itself, Richard goes to pour them both glasses of water while Brandon puts on some music and goes to the bathroom. They meet in the bedroom. Richard hands Brandon his glass and Brandon drinks it, never dropping eye contact, and Richard can feel his heart beating a little faster, and his breathing deepen.

He finishes his own water as Brandon puts his glass down and starts a slow strip-tease.

_ I wanna be soft… I wanna be graceful… _

Brandon’s revealing his hairless chest a bit at a time, covering himself up again, and dancing out of reach when Richard goes to touch.

“Uh uh uh… not yet…” Brandon whispers and Richard groans. He takes his own shirt off, sits on the bed to take his shoes and socks off, shucks his pants and underwear, folds everything neatly onto a chair and then sits back to enjoy the show.

_ we wanna be cool _  
_ we wanna be famous _  
_ we wanna be quiet _ _  
we wanna be faceless_

“You’re a terrible tease, you know,” he tells Brandon.

Brandon strips off his slacks and makes a show of bending over in front of Richard, shimmies a little. “Am I?” he says, all faux innocence. And then he laughs, and he’s just himself again, comfortable in his own skin. He steps over to stand between Richard’s knees and cards his fingers through Richard’s hair. His cock is long and thickening slowly as he stands there, rising up to meet Richard, that smooth head slowly changing colour as it fills. Richard will never not be entranced with this man’s gorgeous prick — he’s never been with someone circumcised before, and there’s something enticing about it that always makes his mouth water. Richard’s been hard since the cab — his own cockhead is peeking out from his foreskin, wet with precum. He puts his hands on Brandon’s hips, traces a finger over his tattoo.

_ and we want too many things _ _  
_ _ to give them an answer of who we should be _

“Yes. A terrible, beautiful, tease,” Richard breathes, and he reaches up and brings Brandon’s head down so that he can kiss him thoroughly.

Brandon moans into it, and the sound goes straight to Richard’s prick. He pushes up into the kiss, swirls his tongue into the other man’s mouth, draws Brandon’s tongue chasing his back into his own, and sucks gently on it. Brandon puts one hand firmly into the centre of Richard’s chest, and pushes him backward onto the bed, climbing up on top of him, following him down to keep kissing him. He takes that hand and plays with Richard’s chest hair, moves sideways to Richard’s small but very interested nipple, and runs a fingertip over it. Richard bites his own lip at the sensation, loves how sensitive his nipples are and Brandon knows it, flicks it then soothes it over, kisses down the side of Richard’s neck.

Brandon is framing Richard with his slightly longer limbs, boxing him in. His cock is hovering above Richard’s, and Richard just wants contact now, threads his hands into Brandon’s hair to push him down a little towards his other nipple and he can hear Brandon giggle a little, but he goes willingly.

“Pushy…” he laughs, and Richard says, “Sorry, sorry…” and then Brandon lowers his hips and presses down onto Richard, and Richard groans and pushes _ up _ to meet him, and then Brandon bends his head and licks a stripe across Richard’s nipple, then bites down and Richard arches his back clean off the bed. “Oh, _ god_, darling,” cries Richard.

And then they’re kissing again, and frotting against each other, slow undulations of warm skin, punctuated by little whimpers. Richard still wants his mouth on Brandon’s gorgeous cock though, doesn’t quite know how to find the fortitude to break the kiss, keeps being drawn back into the slow slide, still enjoying that hazy edge of his high from earlier, his hands wandering up the expanse of Brandon’s back and down to the swell of his arse.

The song changing gives him the impetus he needs; he gently turns Brandon over and kisses his way down, wraps one hand around Brandon and licks around the head, up the underside, across his scar, swirls his tongue around the head again and dips ever so slightly into his slit. Brandon reaches down and keeps playing with Richard’s nipples and Richard shifts so he has better access, hums around his mouthful, reaches down to stroke the oh-so-soft skin of Brandon’s sac, cups his balls and rolls them lovingly, and Brandon moans, “Yes, _ Richard _…” and Richard sinks down all the way, feels Brandon hit the back of his throat, angles his neck and keeps on going, swallows and come back up, lets the spit pool in his mouth and does it again, deep and wet, and Brandon’s breathing goes shallow, as Richard licks back up again, sinks back down, settles into the bright joy of taking care of his man, of taking him ever so carefully apart. One Folamour track segues into another and Brandon is pulling at him, urging him back up, claiming his mouth again, and then wrapping a hand around Richard, who’s sopping with how much he’s dripped sucking Brandon off, and so it’s a slick slapping sound as Brandon jerks him, and Richard says, “You too, you too, both of us…” and Brandon shifts so he can wrap that hand around the two of them together, using Richard’s precum as lube for them both and that’s as hot as it is filthy. At first, they’re kissing again, hungry, and Brandon sucks Richard’s lower lip into his mouth, gently bites into it, lets go, as Richard changes angles and licks up into Brandon, closes his lips and separates only to return to meet him as they both arch up, and then Brandon speeds his hand up and they’re both just breathing into each other’s mouths, rapid, eyes wide, hips juddering, and Brandon is saying, “oh, oh, oh,” a little high, a little sweet, and Richard is throbbing with it, and tumbles over that edge into ecstasy, as Brandon’s delighted laugh follows him, wet stripes high between them, and they kiss again, gentle, as they come down.

***

They wake up tangled up in each other, sticky with dried cum between them, and it’s pretty gross. Richard’s mouth is dry and his head hurts, but not as much as it might have. He’s so glad they had that water before they fell asleep. He extracts himself gently and goes to shower. He comes back into the room towelling his hair, and Brandon, distracted on his phone, says, “It’s not weird to follow Mia on insta, is it? I really liked her.”

“Don’t ask me what’s weird, B,” retorts Richard. “I’m only on the damn thing because I have tae be.”

“Don’t lie; you love it. You might not like posting but you get to see what Jeremy and Luke and all your friends are up to…”

“Hush. Your turn for the shower, love.” He half-flicks Brandon with his towel, and reaches for clean underwear. “And then let’s get brunch and pack? London awaits…”

Brandon stretches like a cat, and steps off the bed. “You weren’t kidding about packing me in your bags were you, stunner?” he says. “Not that I mind, y’know. But I feel a little like a ping-pong ball... “

“Oi, you can stay here if you want!”

“And miss out on Jeremy’s incredible estate and hearing all about your naughty escapades from your drama buddies? Not likely.” And he ducks as Richard goes to tickle him in revenge, squealing and dancing out of the way, then dashing into the bathroom and closing the door behind him, laughing.

Richard is so, so grateful they did all the American press in London with embargoes. It means they’ve got a day to rest now and they _ need _it. While Brandon showers, Richard is thinking about being apart from Taron again, so incredibly soon, how his boy looked at him last night, and that Richard’ll be missing out on Hollywood screenings even though he lives there now, which is weird. And he smiles to himself, a dirty, wonderful thought occurring to him, about how he can make the distance seem a little less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics during the sex scene are from Too Many Colors, by Twin Shadow, from Brandon's [Spotify playlist Only You](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1C9RLbb57EeveQPsJeY5gf?si=6eVSqdyNTQiWzpHHDbwkow) that [used to be called 'Richard'](https://twitter.com/branchardlove/status/1132762353131331585?lang=en) before he changed it.


	6. playing in the valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taron gets annoyed with an interviewer; Taron has a timeshare on Richard Madden; Dexter is a goddamned hero and saves the day; fuck the Russians and their fucking censorship; Taron gets increasingly uncomfortable in the Castro, but he's a professional, goddamnit; Taron has something he needs to tell his mam; Richard reveals his scathingly brilliant idea and Taron doesn't know why he finds it so incredibly _hot_.
> 
> The Rocketman press tour continues, from Taron's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m just going to ignore that Taron yet again said “it’s no secret that I’m heterosexual” in the Castro interview. He has been saying it less often, though. All other quotes from interviews are verbatim. You all know this story is fiction, right?
> 
> As those of you following me on tumblr know, this fic is a weirdly self-reflexive exploration of what it means to balance the tension of fame and privacy, the closet and the responsibility to other queer folks to be visible and out. This chapter is where that starts to get real. It's also the start of some angst and 'canon-typical' homophobia, in the sense that real interviewers regularly assume the sexuality of actors they're talking to and that there's a salaciousness around 'catching' actors out. There's also porn, because I'm a multifaceted human being and yay, porn?
> 
> Thanks as always to [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus) and Em for beta reading — I couldn't do it without you two, and I love that on this chapter one of you was squeeing over the porn and the other was squeeing over the emotions because hopefully that means this hits both notes well. :-) Any errors remaining etc are of course all mine.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

The [ interview with Peter Travers from Popcorn ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ANdDARKUNxc) is fantastic, and intelligent and everything he looks for in an interview, right up until, a quarter of an hour in, Peter says, “There are people who say you should have been a gay actor,” and Taron’s suddenly done with all this. “Yes,” he says, at the same time as Peter says, “How do you react to that?” and he’s about to give him a serve, really, when Dexter, bless him, interrupts. 

“Can I just say,” says Dexter, “that as the director of a film, I have absolutely no right to ask what the sexuality of an actor is? I cannot sit down with an actor and say, ‘Are you gay? Are you straight?’” Taron’s trying to keep his expression neutral, pressing one finger into the side of his jaw. “It’s just none of my business,” says Dexter. “That’s the simple facts of it.” And Taron is thinking, _ thank you, Dexter Fletcher _ and also, _ good grief, I’ve been such an _ arsehole _ all this time_. If all the straight people just kept their mouths shut about being straight, just that tiny act of refusing to discuss it — that would protect everyone else. And he suddenly feels a huge responsibility, part of a chain, a legacy, not just Richard and Brandon and Luke, but Elton and Neil Patrick Harris and Rock Hudson and Tab Hunter… and he takes a deep breath, thinking about what he’s promised Richard, and thinking about his response, and he folds his arms, takes a deep breath, says, “Yeah…” heavy with it all. 

But Dexter’s still talking and then Peter’s responding and Taron is trying to say something. And by the time he gets a word in, he’s worked out how to talk around it, and he says “if you’re a member of a community that’s feels it’s been underrepresented,” and he means _ him _ and he means _ Richard_, “You’re going to want to preserve opportunities for members of that community,” and he can’t say, “and that’s _ me, _ ” because it wasn’t when he was cast, was it? He didn’t know. But what Dexter has said is _ true_, damn it. And so he forgives himself, because he never actively _ lied_. He might have amends to make, but that’s different.

He thinks back to coming out to Elton and then he knows what he needs to say. “That being said, I do think there’s also an element of having to respect the wishes of the man I’m playing — and he wanted me to play him. And personally, I think that his patronage matters and I think when people see it, I hope that when people see it, they will see that we _ so _ celebrate that part of who Elton is,” and he’s getting angry again now, and he’s worried it shows, “and _ so _ put it front and centre, that I don’t feel like I’ve got anything to apologise for on that score, actually,” and Dexter laughs, and Taron says, “I don’t!” and Dexter is saying, “I categorically agree… I absolutely categorically agree…” and Peter is trying to walk it back, uncomfortable, so having said that, he immediately says, “Of course… I’m sorry…” and Peter says, “I can see what you’re feeling…” and it’s all a bit tense as Peter tries to steer them back into the safety of what props they’ve all nicked from set. “I took Jamie Bell,” Taron says. 

“Richard Madden, too, belongs to you now,” says Peter and well, he’s got that the wrong way ‘round, but okay.

So Taron quips, “Well, I’ve got a timeshare on him,” and tries not to smile at the thought of how true that is. 

When they step off, he dashes off a text to Richard. 

(11.24am) _ I owe you an apology. _

(11.24am) _ And I love you. And I’m sorry that the closet is shit and that society is shit and I get it. _

Richard just sends back a string of question marks followed by a string of hearts, the first clearly sent in between Taron’s two messages and then they both send at the same time:

(11.25am) _ Can we talk? _

and

(11.25am) **Interview go poorly then, love? Here if you need to talk.**

And when Richard picks up, Taron says, “Dexter Fletcher is a goddamned saint of a man. I don’t know _ how _ you haven’t strangled a journalist by now, love.”

“Infinite patience and a deep sense of privacy, duckie, you know that,” says Richard.

“I’m sorry for all the times I said I was straight in interviews,” says Taron. “I’m sorry for contributing to the pressure and for being blind to my privilege.”

“You didn’t know…”

“I’m not apologising for lying. I’m apologising for thinking it was important to clarify it at all.”

“Ah,” says Richard. “Yes. Then thanks.”

“It’s really bloody hard to answer those questions without saying it, though. But I did it. I don’t think I did it well. But I did it.”

And Richard, soft, says, “I’m so sorry, love.” And Taron realises what he’s saying, _ welcome to my life, welcome to the glass closet_, and something in him cracks open a little more, and he has to hold back a sob.

***

And then he’s in the air again, flying the opposite direction from Richard, and that’s ridiculous, considering Richard _ lives _ in California. Dexter isn’t coming to this either — he’s on his way to Toronto. His mother and aunt will be there, though, and he kind of can’t wait.

He lands in San Francisco five hours later and pretty much heads to his hotel, changes clothes, meets his Mam and Auntie and they head out to the Castro. They watch the film together — it’s his third time? — but watching it with his family, he’s so _ chuffed_. As the credits roll, he checks his briefing notes again — Liam Mayclem, a.k.a.”the Foodie Chap”. Odd that he’s the interviewer for a film event but Taron’s never met a foodie he didn’t like, so he’s not really concerned. 

They’re halfway through and Liam asks about “Elton’s manager” — what is it with these guys refusing to say boyfriend? But he starts to answer and there’s applause, and he likes that, says, “Yeah, I’ll take a round of applause for Dickie Madden…” and then Liam says, “… a rather sexy villain…” and Taron can’t help himself, says, “… the sexiest villain…” because Richard is, easily, the sexiest man Taron’s ever laid eyes on, and he drags himself back from thinking about that to say. “You know, we wanted it to feel like, at the beginning, that it’s just these two kids who were falling in love…” and then he talks about how it all went wrong, and comes back to how damn _ attracted _ they are to each other and has to apologise for rambling. 

There’s a lovely moment where he’s talking about Elton grabbing Bernie’s knee and he asks whether it’s okay to touch Liam’s knee and Liam says, “Ask my partner, Rick” and ahhh, maybe he misjudged the guy. Cool. And then Liam says, “You don’t just have to do it once, you can do it a couple of times…” and Taron puts his hand back, suggestively high up on the guy’s thigh and just doubles over as everyone laughs, and Taron says, “Sorry, hubby, wherever you are…” and it turns out the husband is the camera man who says, “It’s quite all right!” a little too enthusiastically and what the hell is going on, honestly. 

He reminds himself that he’s here to talk about Rocketman, though, remembers he was talking about Bernie and Elton and so he gets his act together and onto the topic of Jamie and bromance and wanting to show sensitivity and gentleness, and how he’s still sharing things about himself in every film, about his vulnerability through the prism of Elton. And then he stumbles over himself, talking about identity again, says, “we made no fucking concessions” and talks about how important Elton’s sexuality was to him, and he gets emotional talking about Jack coming out to him when they were 20, crying in his arms, and he knows where he fucking is, in San Fran-fucking-cisco, [ in the fucking _ Castro _ for fuck’s sake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ah1TUbLZcHo&t=86s), and he knows who his audience is and they don’t know he’s one of _ them _ and _ goddamnit _ if he’s not careful, he’s going to be blubbing again. 

“I just want…” he says, and bites his lip, “… people of that community” _ fucking hypocrite _ “…to know that they’re… that it…” he stumbles again — he can get this out, he can, “that it’s important to people who are heterosexual as well… very, very fucking important…” and he just wants the world to be different, but does anyone even know the word _ demisexual_? Can he claim the word bisexual when he’s actually just Richard-sexual? But he did promise Richard there would be no grand gestures… and there’s a ridiculous round of applause and Liam leaning over to reassure him and he deserves absolutely not one single skerrick of this, because he’s a lying liar who lies, and he looks up, blinks back tears, bites his lip again. _ Fuck. _

He sits back, clears his throat, and Liam says, “So on to something more important… for the sex scene…” and everyone laughs, thank Christ, “one take or 20?” and Taron smiles, and leans into it, says, deep and sexy, “We did that for hours, baby…” and gets a high five for his trouble. “And look,” he says, thinking, _ I can do him justice here, _ “if you’re gay, straight, bisexual, if you’re confronted with Richard Madden, what are you going to do?” and he grins, shifts in his seat, a little embarrassed but much more relaxed, and from there it’s smoother sailing, discussion of drunken karaoke and the Big Man’s love of music and his own ego and he’s fine, right up until he’s talking about his mam and his auntie and then he tears up again, soft. 

This time, he swears out loud at himself as he wipes a tear away, talking about what it means to him to share it all with them, and so he turns to his mam, and says straight up, “I love you very much.” And at that moment, he resolves to tell her about Richard. He might not be able to tell the world just yet, but in a completely weird way, he owes it to Elton to tell his mam about the man he loves, and who loves him back.

***

The next day is the day Rocketman officially opens across the US so he chooses one of the behind-the-scenes shots with an outfit that never made it into the film — [ those tight red undies and the blue gown complete with crown ](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByIxelGFY4z/?igshid=1j5i0whov3v42) — and posts it to instagram. Richard, Brandon _ and _Gareth like it and he shows it to his Mam over breakfast. 

Then he he’s getting notifications all over the place and he realises that all the interviews they did back in London are now being shared by US outlets. 

He shows his Mam and Auntie the [ BFF video ](https://youtu.be/3voM3sduKKw) — it’s lovely but also an excellent precursor for the conversation he needs to have. 

They watch it and laugh at all the appropriate places and then Tina hands him back his phone and he says, “So…” and then because he’s _ him_, he tears up, and Tina reaches out a hand and just puts it on top of his, and waits. 

Taron wipes his eyes, and says, “Richard and I have fallen a little bit in love with each other…”

And Tina says, “I can see that…”

“And we’re… god, I actually don’t know what we are. Dating? Seeing each other?”

And his aunt says, “So he’s not with that American boy?”

“Oh yes,” says Taron, “that too. It’s complicated?”

“So long as you’re happy, son,” says Tina. “I’m worried this sounds like a recipe for getting hurt…”

“Don’t worry, Mam. Jack gave him the Talk in Cannes.”

Tina laughs, a little too loud. “I always did like that lad.”

Taron smiles at her, relieved and happy and light, like he didn’t know he’d been carrying a weight but now that it’s gone, he can feel where it was. 

“He really loves you?”

“Yes, Mam. And I love him,” he says, like it’s simple. 

She squeezes his hand, tight. “Good. You deserve it.”

And then, because nothing is allowed to stay simple for long, his phone rings and it’s Elton asking if he’s seen the news about Russia and then he’s on a five-way conference call [ working out responses](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByJS3V0lEhg/?igshid=11y9qh2a0qx1t), flushed with absolute fury that it wasn’t just the sex they’ve censored but the idea that people like him deserve happy endings. 

***

In the midst of it, they fly to LA for yet more press and another screening. When he lands, he texts Richard.

(4.45pm) _ You doing okay, love? Fuck Russia, hey? _

**(4.46pm) Hasn’t been an easy day, but surviving. You’ve seen the ** [ **NYT article**](https://www.nytimes.com/2019/05/31/movies/richard-madden-rocketman.html)**?**

(4.46pm) _ Ah, it’s out, it is? Did what you hoped? _

**(4.47pm) As expected. Now wait & see. You okay?**

(4.48pm) _ Doing well. Came out to me mam this morning. 😉 _

And he smiles as he watches the dots rise and fall and eventually the message comes through.

**(4.50pm) Proud of you, love. Does that mean she knows about us?**

(4.50pm) _ Yes. Told her Jack already gave you the talk though so she doesn’t have to. ;-) _

And all he gets back are laughing emoji and a fire emoji.

He puts his phone away as they pull up to the studio. Then he’s [ talking with Ryan Seacrest ](https://youtu.be/Sss9LIdx-uQ) and it’s just a pure bloody pleasure. There are some interviews he just adores and he couldn’t say why.

***

He spends most of Saturday sight-seeing with his Mam and Auntie. It’s weird being in LA, for the second time in less than a week, without Richard.

That night is the [ screening at the ArcLight ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WuUzSPUsjGE&feature=youtu.be) and it’s him, Jamie, Dexter and Bryce on yet another stage answering some of the same questions. 

But the interviewer also asks about the Russian censorship, and Taron is close to snapping. Bless Dexter, who steps in again, fierce, fabulous ally that he is.

“We are not going to let other people’s issues become ours,” says Dexter eventually, and Taron’s nodding, vehement in his agreement. “We’ve got to make a film we believe in. If someone’s got an issue with that, just don't fucking go and see the film."

And Taron chimes in, angry, “Yeah, we didn't make it for you. Go away.” He shakes his head in disgust.

“And Elton says he has not lived a PG-13 life,” says the interviewer.

And Taron grins at that. “You don’t know the half of it,” he says, and he laughs.

Later, he’s telling the same story he’s told over and over about Elton giving him his first diamond earring and he didn’t realise that some of the cast hadn’t heard that, because the look on Bryce’s face is absolutely _ priceless. _

And after _ that_, they all head back to [ Holly Wiersma’s place for a party ](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByVpVfTll12/) — he knows her from working on Billionaire Boys Club. He doesn’t drink as much as he would have usually, what with his mam there, and they head off around midnight. He says goodnight to Tina and Eve as they head off to their respective hotel rooms, and he thinks to himself that it’s been a lovely night, even if there’s a particular person missing, as he takes off his bracelet, settles on the bed and wonders what time it is in London.

And speak of the devil, Richard sends him a text saying ‘Been thinking about our conversation re being apart. Check your inbox.’ and when he does, Richard has sent him an email with a link and one line: 

open when alone & tell me when you have. 

When he clicks into it, it’s a fucking [vibrating _ butt plug_ with a remote control that you can operate via the _ Internet _](https://www.lovense.com/vibrating-butt-plug) and his brain just fucking shuts down. He almost drops his fucking phone three times trying to text Richard to say he’s seen it. He literally doesn’t know what to say; he feels restless, too big for his skin.

Richard immediately calls.

“What are you thinking, lover? Tell me,” he hears, in that warm brogue.

“I… _ Richard_,” stutters Taron. “ _ God. _”

“Good? Or bad?”

“Good,” says Taron. “I don’t… I… _ Richard…” _

“Yes, love, I’m here…”

“I don’t understand why I want this,” says Taron, too fast, as if he can pretend it hasn’t been said.

“Because, love, you feel safer when I’m in charge. You like it when I tell you what to do and where to be, and you like it when I take care of you. We need to have a bigger conversation about how much you want me to push that, how formal you want it to be, but you’re gorgeous when you’re desperate for it and I’m going to have so… much… fun… with this in you, turning it on when I want to, turning _ you _ on when I want to…”

And Taron can’t breathe with how aroused he is, can’t help the needy whine that comes out of him.

Richard inhales sharply. “And you have a praise kink a mile wide, my love, and I adore telling you how fucking incredible you are and watching you turn into putty in my hands…”

“_ Please, Richard…” _

“Do you want to touch yourself, my darling? Are you hard for me?”

_ “Yes… god…” _

“Go on then. Touch yourself…” Taron shoves his hand down his pants so fast, grips himself hard and strokes, and he’s moaning and he feels the crest rising just as Richard says, “Stop,” and he gasps out loud, panting into the phone, and Richard says, “_ Good boy… _” warm and proud and low, and it pools at the base of Taron’s spine like molasses.

“That little toy is now in my cart… and… done. I’ll send you your part of it when it arrives, sweetheart.”

Taron squirms, imagining it. “Okay,” he says.

“If you want to come, later, you call me, okay?” says Richard, and the message is clear — _ no coming until I say so, until I can hear it_, and Taron’s cock throbs and his hips jerk forward without his permission and he twists his hands in his pants, across his thighs, and ever so quiet, says, “Yes, Richard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Dexter Fletcher for his fierce defence of queer actors in these interviews and also Taron, who is clearly working through some emotional stuff in these interviews in real life, whether that's on his own behalf or on Richard's behalf or just in general.
> 
> In real life, Taron is friends with Welsh actor Luke Evans, who is out but was briefly pushed back into the closet for publicity reasons, and Richard is friends with Douglas Booth (they played lovers in _Worried About the Boy_). I think this [interview with Douglas](https://www.gaytimes.co.uk/culture/115282/douglas-booth-on-playing-gay-and-why-its-harder-for-lgbtq-actors-in-the-industry/) is very revealing of the way even queer press contributes to the pressure to come out. I suspect Douglas is bisexual — he's dating Bel Powley at the moment — and I think that it's awful of the interviewer to ask him this in this way. I suspect that the friends he's talking about are Richard and Luke, when he says some people he knows are out and some aren't.


	7. like a puppy child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard introduces Brandon to Jeremy and Simon (and Douglas and Bel and Andrew); Hector and Poirot and Bob are adorable; Brandon and Taron have a secret; Richard gets a delivery; cuddles for everyone; Richard and Taron have an important conversation.
> 
> A visit to Ashbocking from Richard's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you all know the drill by now but I'd like to thank heavensfallingaroundus and em for beta reading as always. In particular, heavensfallingaroundus is very good at picking up when I'm making assumptions that the reader knows why a character is thinking something and making sure I spell it out. She's also the ellipsis police since I'm overly fond of them — everyone needs a specialty. Em is my emotional tone checker — if I don't get at least four comments about the happy poly feels per chapter or the equivalent 'oof, I felt that, poor Taron', I know I need to up my game.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

By the time [Just Jared](http://www.justjared.com/2019/06/01/richard-madden-reacts-to-brandon-flynn-dating-speculation/) and every other [gossip](https://www.out.com/celebs/2019/6/03/richard-madden-emphatically-does-not-deny-dating-brandon-flynn) [rag](https://www.attitude.co.uk/article/richard-madden-on-brandon-flynn-dating-rumours-i-keep-my-personal-life-personal/21106/) is exploding with the news that Richard ‘_Bodyguard_’ Madden failed to deny a relationship with his boyfriend, Richard and Brandon are safely in London. The British Press might be atrocious but the paps in LA and New York have been relentless.

Richard’s theoretically here to film _1917_ — but first and more importantly, they’re headed out to [ Jeremy and Simon’s place ](https://www.telegraph.co.uk/property/luxury/really-like-live-seven-bedrooms-75-pairs-shoes-thousands-instagram/) in Suffolk. With ‘only’ seven bedrooms, it’s smaller than their last place, [ Youngsbury](https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/welcome-to-youngsbury-676l7tgjcph), but not by much. He’s so looking forward to introducing Brandon to his closest friends in person.

The party is already in full swing when they arrive and they’re greeted at the door by Douglas Booth, and Richard wraps him in a warm hug. 

“No snog?” says Douglas. 

“I’ve always got a kiss for my girl,” says Richard, low and cockney, “C’mere. Say it again.” 

[ “I’m _ your _ girl](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rk_IM_fGRcA),” says Douglas, flirty, and they kiss passionately on the doorstep before they break apart laughing. 

“Never gets old,” says Richard, in his regular accent. 

“Ahem,” says Brandon. “Going to introduce her to your boy?” 

“Oh, sweetheart, yer not my boy,” says Richard. “That is most definitely Taron. You, strapping lad, are something else. Douglas, Brandon. Brandon, Douglas. Don’t scratch each other’s eyes out.” 

Brandon actually giggles and gives Douglas a hug, and Richard heads in to find their hosts and get pounced on by Bel Powley, who literally squeals when she sees him. Of course the next person who greets him is Hector, gorgeous, [ huge Hector the Great Dane ](https://www.instagram.com/p/4ueSEjmpoU/) and Richard has missed him so much, and he’s _ such _ a good boy, yes, he is. The [ other dogs ](https://www.instagram.com/p/BaWZ07KH4GE/) — Poirot and Bob — say hi too, but Richard’s heart will always belong to Hector.

And then Jeremy is there, taking his bag and showing them up to their room. It’s magnificent, of course, [ large windows looking out over the vast green of the estate](https://www.instagram.com/p/BwKdIg1Fx0P/), sparkling in the sunlight. But it’s his best friend’s company he’s warmed by most.

When they’re all settled in the conservatory, G&Ts in hand, Jeremy says, “I finally saw your little flick, Richard. Magnificent. I can’t believe you made me wait though.”

“Are you saying you regret joining us for dinner with Elton during the London premiere, darling?” Richard bites back, amused. “I’ll make sure I don’t invite you next time.”

“Seriously, though,” says Simon. “Incredible turn. All of you.”

“Seriously, though,” says Richard, “Thank you. Can we _ please _ talk about something else now?” And conversation turns to who else might be dropping by — Andrew Hawley is a definite for tomorrow, and possibly Luke Evans, possibly Lily — and the weather looks like it will be glorious, so they plan for swimming.

***

“This place is _[unbelievable](https://habituallychic.luxury/2019/01/for-sale-in-suffolk/)_,” says Brandon, when they’re finally alone. They’re in the guest suite and it’s almost as big as their apartment in LA, but [decorated in blue and eggshell](https://www.houseandgarden.co.uk/gallery/jeremy-langmead-house) and with an armoire inherited from someone’s wealthy maiden aunt. Richard did warn him, but the reality is still intense. 

“Right?” says Richard. “You should have seen their old place, though.” He glances around at the wallpaper and the [overstuffed blue-and-white settee](https://habituallychic.luxury/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/for-sale-suffolk-habituallychic-038.jpg).

“How did you two meet, anyway?”

“He was at _Esquire_ and did a story on me, I think? And he kind of adopted me.” Richard pulls up an [ old photo of them from 2011 ](https://postimg.cc/zVCm9xfr) on his phone and shows Brandon.

“Oh my god!” squeaks Brandon. “Look at you! You’re so cute!!”

“Oh hush…” says Richard, clicking the screen off, embarrassed.

“Did you ever…?” Brandon leaves the suggestion hanging in the air, and Richard shrugs. Jeremy is at least 20 years older than him — it’s not that he objects to the idea, but it’s never been like that between them.

“I was with Jenna… and by the time I wasn’t, he was with Simon… but we’re friends. Always have been.” Brandon’s been packing their things away, and now comes back in from the en suite. Richard catches his hand as he passes. “Stop for a tick?” He pats the spot next to him on the bed. Brandon sits down, and Richard’s filled with warmth, looking at him. He leans in, kisses him on the forehead.

“How are you, with the [article](https://www.nytimes.com/2019/05/31/movies/richard-madden-rocketman.html)?” he asks, a little nervous.

“I’m fine,” says Brandon.

“Okay,” says Richard, and he’s trying to figure out what’s not being said, because there’s definitely something. “But?”

“But…” says Brandon. “I don’t know. It’s Pride month starting and this time last year I was heading for Pride in New York; the year before I was at Pride in Paris. This year, I’m in love with the most incredible man and it feels a tiny bit like we’re in hiding.” 

“Okay…” says Richard again, and he’s feeling a mite anxious about where this conversation is going, takes a deep breath.

“I’m not pushing…” says Brandon, hand on Richard’s forearm, stroking up, down.

“No grand statements,” says Richard, trying to find his way.

“No, I still stand by that. But just… I’m glad we’ve decided we’re just going to live our lives.”

And Richard wants that too, wishes fervently that this career he loves didn’t automatically come with fame and people acting like they have rights to know his every move. He leans forward and kisses Brandon on the mouth, soft. “Me, too,” he says.

“I wish I was here for more than a few days,” says Brandon. 

“When’s the LA Pride Parade?” says Richard, all of a sudden.

“Um,” says Brandon, and googles it. “Next week. Sunday.”

“We’ll be back, won’t we?”

“It’s also Shavuot, though. I’m not sure whether Mom’s doing the Saturday or the Sunday…”

“Well,” says Richard, “Let’s talk, anyhow. But right now, I can think of better things to do…” And he peels Brandon’s T-shirt off over his head, place a hand on the back of the man’s neck, and pulls him in to kiss him for real.

***

The next day is as bright and sunny as promised — practically sweltering for England — so they all head to the pool. It’s idyllic — [there’s wisteria climbing the fence, greenery everywhere, blue skies](https://habituallychic.luxury/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/for-sale-suffolk-habituallychic-033.jpg). Brandon is wearing board shorts and looking fit — Richard can’t help himself, he absolutely loves that little inguinal crease poking out above a waistband. Richard’s shorts are more functional than sexy but he’s not in bad shape himself right now even if, in his head, he’s still pudgy and shouldn’t be shirtless. He tells himself to stop thinking like that and just enjoy the way everyone’s eyes track him as he dives into the water.

Jeremy’s looking fit for his age too — Richard’s tempted to say something about keeping up with the younger men, but it’s bit of a sore point. Simon’s only five years older than Richard.

Luke is apparently not coming — he’s in Budapest, filming the next season of The Alienist and sends his apologies. But Andrew arrives and there’s a steady crew of others, all familiar faces from previous Jeremy and Simon jaunts. 

Lazing around the pool is such a different pace from the last few weeks, he finds himself fidgeting. As a matter of routine at Jeremy’s, he turns his phone completely off, sometimes for days at a time, but he’s wondering what Taron’s up to, a little worried about that look he saw in the lad’s eyes when they said goodbye. 

The phone’s not even with him, it’s in his room. _ This is ridiculous. _ He _ hates _ being tethered to technology. Why is he so distracted? He tries to hold up his end of the conversation with the quite delightful woman who’s a photographer Simon knows but eventually gives up. 

“It’s drinks-o-clock somewhere in the world, right? Who wants a cocktail?”

He heads up to the house, detours to the guest suite and grabs the phone out of his bag. He resists turning it on straight away — pretty sure he’ll never make it back to the pool if he does that — and goes to the bar to mix up two jugs, one of Pimm’s Cup and one of Negroni. 

When he does turn the phone on, back at the pool, it does its usual buzzing ‘welcome back’ and he’s relieved to see that Taron’s texts sound chipper. He’s got Brandon’s number for emergencies but Richard wasn’t sure he’d be comfortable using it. He’s also unsure if he’s overplaying what he saw, projecting his own experience with anxiety onto Taron. 

He snaps a shot of Hector lounging by the pool and sends it to Taron, captioned, “my other true love”. 

And then, Taron writes back to him far too quickly, considering it’s like, 4am in LA, and he texts, “wait, where are you?” and Taron says, “[closer than you think](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByOM2DQFMrx/)” and Richard is just staring at his phone. He texts back, “are you in London???” and Taron says, “patience, my love” and Richard is vibrating out of his skin. Brandon starts laughing across the other side of the pool, and honestly, Richard is feeling ganged up on now.

“What do you know, traitor?” he calls out, and Brandon laughs and calls back, “Patience, love…” and Richard flicks water at him.

Two hours later, Taron pulls into the driveway, and Hector bounds up to greet him and lick him all over, and Richard is hugging and hugging and hugging him, and Taron is saying, “It was supposed to be a surprise! Brandon and I had everything set up! You never turn on your phone here!” and he gets to introduce him to Simon and Jeremy and Douglas and Andrew and honestly, everything is _ perfect_.

***

“Package for you, Richard,” Simon says, when he heads into the main house, having changed into a fresh shirt and slacks for dinner. Simon holds the courier box out and Richard takes it. 

“Ah, yeah, thanks. I was expecting that — sorry, was just convenient to have it delivered here,” says Richard, trying for nonchalant, hoping he’s not blushing. “Ye don’t mind, do ye?” 

“Course not,” says Simon. “Mi casa, tu casa, et cetera.”

“Just going to put it away, then.” He heads straight back towards the guest suite, energised, bouncing on his heels, pauses just long enough at Taron’s door to indicate he should follow.

Taron stops singing to himself as he unpacks, and falls into step beside Richard. “All OK, then, old chap?”

“More than,” purrs Richard. “Got a delivery, didn’t I? Was planning on sending your part of it to your flat, but you’re here, so…”

Taron literally stops in the middle of the corridor once his brain catches up to his ears and he processes what Richard’s referring to. He starts walking again just as Richard stops and turns towards him.

“You’re not… I can’t…”

“Och, I’m not expecting you to _ wear _ it tae _ dinner_, love. Just giving it to you while I have the opportunity. And _ very _ much enjoying the look on your face right now.”

They walk the rest of the way in silence, but never losing touch with each other — a hand on Taron’s shoulder, Taron’s hand on Richard’s waist, fingers tangling and then separating, only for Taron to lean up and kiss Richard on his cheek, and then the dance starts all over again. Brandon’s just leaving the guest suite as they arrive and he looks at them in confusion — Richard only left to go to the dining room a minute ago. “Um… like, did you forget something? I could have brought it across…”

Richard holds up his still-wrapped package. “Just showing Taron a new toy I ordered. We’ll be down in a minute, okay?”

“Okay…” says Brandon, dubiously, and he leans forward for a kiss. Richard holds him close, after.

“I promise,” says Richard. “We’re not skipping dinner for nookie.”

“Uh, definitely not,” says Taron. “It was awkward enough doing it in a hotel room knowing you were in a café downstairs!”

“Oh, sweetheart,” says Brandon, flirty. “I’d be fine with you doing it in the same room! Have you seen yourself?”

Taron blushes to the roots of his hair and stammers, “Uh… I… um…”

“Don’t worry, love,” says Richard. “I’ve explained to him why a threeway is unlikely… he’s just hopeful and shameless…”

“Can’t blame a boy for trying!” chirps Brandon, and he kisses Taron on the cheek, and says, a little more serious, “Let me know if I’m actually making you uncomfortable, though, yeah?” and then to both of them, “See you down there!” and he’s gone.

Taron runs a hand through his hair. “Am I being a spoilsport, then?”

“No, love,” says Richard, calm and steady. “He’s being greedy.” Richard takes Taron’s hand and tugs him into the guest suite, closes the door behind them. “C’mere.”

Taron goes, half-reluctant, but slots into Richard’s arms like he belongs there, snug against his chest. Richard breathes him in and he can feel Taron doing the same, a tension in him releasing as the hug goes on. Richard strokes down Taron’s back, across those broad shoulders, cups his neck and kisses his temple. “Better?” he whispers into Taron’s ear.

Taron nods and Richard steps back. “Wanna see your present still?” and Taron’s blushing again, squirms a little.

“Yes?” he says. Richard unwraps it: it’s exactly as beautiful as it had looked on the site, [ sleek and black](https://www.lovense.com/vibrating-butt-plug). He opens the box and hands the soft silicone plug to Taron.

“So this connects to an app on my phone… and I can control it over the Internet…”

“Oh. My. God,” breathes Taron.

“… and possibly the best bit: I can synchronise it to music…”

“Shut. Up.”

Richard takes it back for a moment, turns it on, hand it back. Taron just stares at Richard. Richard smirks.

“I take it you like the idea.”

“You know how you said you didn’t expect me to wear it to dinner? I kind of really, really, really want to wear it to dinner. But also I’m completely aware of how inappropriate that would be. Fuck me. That’s… wow.”

Richard turns it off, takes it back and puts it back in its box. “Well, love, you pop that in your bags on the way back down, and I’ll download the app and we’ll talk more about this later, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah. Um. Richard?”

“Yes, love?”

“Thank you.”

“I told you I take care of what’s mine, didn’t I, love?” Richard caresses Taron’s cheek, possessive, soft.

And Taron nods, slow, looks like he wants to drop to his knees right there and god, but Richard wants him to. But there’ll be time for that later. And so they head back to join the others.

***

When dessert is done, and the fancy port is mostly gone, the three of them head towards bed, and Richard realises he has no idea where he’s sleeping.

“Erm… did you lads also discuss our sleeping arrangements while you were plotting against me?” he ventures.

Brandon grins at him. “Yes, honey, we did. I’m off to the airport far too early in the morning and I’ll have you back with me in no time, so you’re in with Taron.”

“Nightcap, though?” asks Taron. And Richard’s definitely up for that, so they all pile on to Taron’s bed — it’s big enough, there isn’t a room on this floor that isn’t enormous — and Taron pours them each a whiskey from a decanter that’s by the bed.

Taron snuggles up against Richard, and Brandon’s half-lying across the base of the bed, hand on Richard’s ankle, and it’s the most content Richard can remember being in his life. There’s nothing he has to hold back, no half-truths, no fear. And that’s when he realises with a shock that this is what it feels like not to be anxious. He sits in that for a moment, listening to Taron and Brandon talk quietly, about London and about travel, getting to know each other. Then he raises his glass to them both in a toast. “To love,” he says. And they both look at him, smiles that go all the way up to happy eyes, and clink their glasses to his. 

“To love,” they say, in unison, Welsh accent overlaid with Miami twang, and the three of them drink.

Half an hour later, Brandon yawns and makes his excuses and Taron shifts on the bed. “No, no, don’t get up, don’t be silly,” Brandon reassures him. He knee-walks over to Richard and right next to Taron, kisses him soft and sweet goodnight and Richard kisses him back. A small sound from Taron reminds Richard that he probably hasn’t experienced this before and he tightens the arm that’s around Taron, soothes him, but doesn’t pull away from Brandon. And when Brandon sits back and steps off the bed, Richard kisses Taron’s temple.

“Okay, love?”

“Uh… yeah, I mean…” Taron stumbles over the words.

Brandon looks stricken. “Oh, gee, I didn’t even think. I’m so sorry, Taron.” 

“God, no, Brandon, it’s okay. He’s your boyfriend. Of course you can kiss your boyfriend!”

“It’s okay to be uncomfortable with it right beside you, though, T,” says Richard, “And to have agreements about what happens in front o’ each other.”

Taron passes a tired hand across his face. “Can we do that another time, then? Too knackered right now.”

“Deal,” says Brandon.

And Taron says, “C’mere,” and Brandon goes back around to that side of the bed. “Giss a hug, yeah?” And Brandon leans down as Taron pushes up from Richard’s embrace, raises his arms and enfolds Brandon in them. Richard thinks his heart will burst. “Goodnight, B,” says Taron.

“Night, lover,” says Richard.

“Night, you two,” says Brandon. “Sleep well.” And with that, he’s gone.

Richard turns the bedside light out, shifts down the bed, getting under the covers and pulls Taron down with him. He disentangles himself, takes his trousers off and his shirt, pulls them out from under the duvet and dumps them unceremoniously over the side of the bed, then turns back to Taron and pulls his T-shirt over his head and does the same with it. Taron shucks his jeans and underpants, leans over to put his glasses on the nightstand. 

“You really all right, love?” Richard asks, in the dark, only a little moonlight coming in through the bay window to illuminate their faces.

“I didn’t know where to look… but yes. I wanted to watch… not in _ that _ way, it wasn’t _ hot_, but… I dunno… fascinating. But like I was intruding if I did. Watch.”

Richard drifts the flat of his palm over Taron’s bare chest, his shoulders, his belly, down his thick bicep and back up. He kisses his shoulder, and looks back up at him. “I’m so impressed with you, taking all this in your stride. You’re so… genuine. I sometimes can’t believe you’re real.” There’s something about being naked in a bed with someone that makes you so vulnerable, he thinks, not for the first time. A way you speak with each other.

Taron turns onto his side, facing Richard now, cups a hand against his cheek.

“I get so scared,” confesses Taron, “that all this is a dream, and I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. And not just you — all of it. Acting. This life.” Richard leans into the space between them, captures Taron’s lips in his, ever so soft. Taron blinks at him, gentle smile playing across his face. “And then you kiss me like that, and I want to memorise it, just in case…” Now Taron kisses him, open mouthed, slow, sucking soft on Richard’s lower lip.

“I’m here,” breathes Richard. “I’m here now.”

“I know,” whispers Taron. “I know.”

And they trade sweet kisses, back and forth, like promises, until they fall asleep.

***

When they wake up in the morning, Brandon has snuck out, leaving them a note, asking them to send Hector photos and promising to post regular photos of Charlie to Instagram over the next few days.

They’ve got two days until Richard needs to head off into the mud and muck of World War I.

There’s one more conversation they need to have in person — apart from the one they started last night — but even though last night feels like they deepened their connection even more, if that’s possible, honestly Richard has no fucking idea how to broach it. What’s he supposed to say? “So, Taron, dunno if you’ve worked it out yet, but what we’re doing is basically S&M…”

In the end, he doesn’t need to worry because Taron brings it up, after breakfast, when they’re taking a walk down to the outhouse-turned-gym, past the reedy pond and the stables.

“You said, when you bought the plug, that we needed to talk about how formal we wanted to be…”

Richard looks up, sharp. “Yes?”

“I googled a little, that night.”

Richard breathes in deep. If Taron says he doesn’t want to do this, he has to be ready to let that be it. If he’s read this wrong, if it’s just too much, if it’s too _ kinky-dirty-bad_.

“And? See anything you liked?” he says, simple, trying desperately for neutral, for uninflected.

“And I dunno. I’m…” Taron glances sidelong at Richard. “Look, it’s very clear I’ve got a praise kink, right? Like you said. That’s what they call it. But some of the rest…”

“We don’t have to do anything…” Richard rushes to reassure him.

“Dickie. Love. I know that. Don’t jump to conclusions.” He inhales. “I don’t want to call you ‘sir’ and I don’t want you calling me names. If that’s what you mean by ‘formal’. I just want to be us… Richard and Taron…”

“I’m fine with that.” Richard feels like he’s been holding his breath for too long. He’s light-headed. He reminds himself to breathe in again. “What else?”

“Um. We’ve already covered the question of a safeword…” Taron fidgets, remembering, and Richard grins at him.

“Kingsman, if I recall correctly. What else?”

“Yeah.” Taron blushes and ducks his head. He says, low, rushed, “I like the idea that I’m yours, and that you decide when I get to come. If I get to come.”

Even though Richard suspected that, hearing it said out loud is electric, a pulse straight to his prick. “Even when we’re not together, you mean?” he breathes, and it’s _ such _ a gift. _ Incredible_.

“Yes,” says Taron, shy, embarrassed.

Richard stop walking, catches Taron by the elbow. “T, look at me.” Taron looks up and meets Richard’s eyes. “You should never be embarrassed about asking for what you need. What you’ve just offered me is a magnificent gift. _ Thank you_.”

“You’re welcome? And I’ll try, Richard. Not to be embarrassed I mean. Can’t guarantee that one. Um.” He pauses. “What do _ you _want, Dickie? What do you get out of this?”

“I’ve told you before, I like taking care of you. This is an extension of that but magnified. Watching you come unravelled, knowing that the reason you feel like that is because you’re wrapped up in my love? And that you trust me so deeply? God, it’s _ spectacular_, T.” Richard stops, takes both of Taron’s hands. He needs to see Taron when he says this, see his reaction. “So, to answer the first part of your question, what I want is to make you feel good because it makes me feel good… but if you’re asking whether there’s anything I fantasise about or what my limits are… I want to hear you say you’re mine.”

“I think I said I was yours practically the first time we kissed…”

“You did — and I almost stopped breathing. But I wasn’t sure if you meant it like I do, this fierce, possessive thing. I want to mark you. It scares me a little,” Richard stops. Takes a breath. “I want to make you writhe with the intensity of what you’re feeling. I want you to give yourself up to that and let me catch you.”

Taron is breathing hard and gazing at him, open, trusting — and Richard can suddenly see in the softness of it the way he looks at Colin, at Hugh, in all those interviews, the admiration and trust and love of these older, competent men, these father-figures who stand in for the father who left Taron when he was young — and so he needs to say something else, uncomfortable as it might be. “As for limits… you said you just want to be us, and so do I. I definitely don’t want to be your daddy or any of that stuff…”

And Taron laughs, “The entire Internet will be devastated…” and then more seriously, “No, I can see why that’s appealing to some people and why that intersects with this stuff, but it makes me uncomfortable. I get that it’s part of it, psychologically, but saying it out loud? I’m good.”

Richard squeezes Taron’s left hand reassuringly then lets go of it, keeps hold of his right, and they walk a little more.

“I’ve noticed you like it when I call you ‘my good boy’, though…” says Richard, eventually.

“Ah… yes. Your boy. That feels different, though. Like — I can’t believe I’m saying this, what a _ wanker _ — like Catullus and the young men he’s writing to.”

Richard laughs. “Hopefully I’m less of a drama queen… and definitely less jealous. But sure.” Richard strokes Taron’s bracelet with one finger and he feels Taron shiver. “I like this, too. You wearing my bracelet.”

“So do I.”

“I think… I mean, you can still take it off whenever you like, but you should always be wearing it when we’re playing these games…”

Taron closes his eyes for a moment, “That feels a bit… prescriptive? So far we’ve done fine with slipping into this stuff when we want to. I’m fine with leaving it fluid — flexible. It’s good we’ve talked about it, and I’m happy to talk again, but I’m okay without codifying it all…”

Richard nods, and squeezes his hand again.

“Just keep asking me before we try anything new and I’ll tell you if I’m not comfortable with it,” says Taron. 

“Of course, love. And same from me, so don’t ever be afraid to ask.”

It’s Taron’s turn to squeeze Richard’s hand. They walk in comfortable silence, then, holding hands until they reach the gym. 

“Ready to sweat?” asks Taron. 

“First to 10 chin-ups gets a blow job…”

“You’re on!” And Taron jostles him as he sprints off, laughing like a hyena, competitive. How did Richard get this lucky?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter started with [ Brandon Flynn commenting "Is this my view when I stay?" on Jeremy Langmead's instagram post of his bay window](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/post/186186368298) and [Richard's insta story of himself and Hector](https://actorsandcanines.tumblr.com/post/187581680322/richard-madden-and-hector). It then devolved into my usual frenzy of research where I fell down the rabbit hole into articles about Jeremy and Simon's incredible houses and their interior decorator and photos of their dogs and OMG. And discovering the [gorgeous photo of Douglas Booth and Hector at Youngsbury](https://www.instagram.com/p/4ueSEjmpoU/) taken by Richard many years ago. And thank you Simon for actually naming the other dogs in your captions. Although delving back really far in Jeremy's insta led to some very interesting images and to wishful thinking that these are Richard: [[1](https://www.instagram.com/p/NddxyDwC99/)][[2](https://www.instagram.com/p/NdVedTwC8O/)]
> 
> Thanks to Kevin Systrom and Mike Krieger for inventing instagram and the various publicists who suggested to their celebrity clients that it would be a good idea to use it.


	8. the bronze of your body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard and Taron finally get to play with _that_ present; Taron is oversensitive; Richard is possessive; Richard heads off to film _1917_; Taron confesses he likes pussy (cats); Taron sings in front of thousands of people with two of his heroes; Elton is a goddamned legend, again; happy Pride, everybody; Brandon and Richard eat cheesecake.
> 
> In which we earn that E rating once again, from Taron's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how this goes. My name is phoenix (mordwen) rose and I'm a sex addict. I'm addicted to writing madderton trash and I make absolutely no apologies for enjoying every single minute of the 1500 words of porn that kick off this chapter.
> 
> How long is this going to take? Well, I guess that's up to you. (You may, however, be pleased to hear that I've revised my estimated chapter count to 14 now... plus an epilogue.)
> 
> Eternal gratitude to heavensfallingaroundus who did an exceptional beta on this chapter and challenged me on important questions about Taron's consent, and Em, who has been a cheerleader on this chapter, and listened to me talk about plot and secrecy/transparency and emotional beats beyond the call of duty.

“Oh, fuck, please, Richard, I’m ready…” moans Taron, and Richard slips his fingers out and soothes down Taron’s flank with his other hand. 

“Are ye now…” murmured Richard. “God, ye’re so fucking _ beautiful_, Taron.”

Richard’s words sink into him like caresses, and he melts a little more with it. Richard moves away and when he comes back, his shirt has disappeared. Taron’s distantly pleased about that — he likes looking at Richard’s body. Then there’s more slippery wetness, and a soft pressure at Taron’s entrance, and Taron’s not focusing on what Richard’s wearing any more and Richard says, “It’s going to get wider as it goes in, okay? And then there’ll be a point where it pops in…”

“Just do it,” begs Taron. “Just get it in me. _ God_.” He’s so _ empty_. They’ve been preparing for this for what feels like hours. And he wants, so badly, to feel full again. The silicon is warm — body temperature — and the gentle pressure of it opens him up slow. Richard slides it out of him again when the tip’s barely in and he groans. The plug slides back in, a bit deeper this time, a bit wider, and he’s hungry for it, pushes back onto it. Richard puts a hand on his hip, holds him still.

“Uh uh, love. Patience. I’ll decide when you’re ready, not you, remember?” And Taron whimpers, on edge already, still. “You’re doing so well, love, so open for me…” Taron nods slowly, eager to please. He’s floating again, gossamer thin.

The plug slides in again, deeper, wider — and it’s wider than a cock at this point, the stretch is intense — for a moment he’s not sure he can do this, is about to say _ stop, I can’t _ when Richard’s hand is soothing him again, drawing it back a little, pushing in again. “Relax for me, sweetheart, breathe in and bear down a touch,” and Taron does and Richard _ pushes _ forward at that point and then Taron’s body is sucking the toy into him, his muscles closing around the narrow neck of it, and then it’s _ in him_, solid, inescapable, and Taron squirms under Richard’s possessive gaze.

“Look at you, _ my god, _ Taron.” Richard surges up Taron and claims his lips, fierce, hungry. Taron kisses him back, helpless little sounds escaping as he moves beneath him, thinking, _ yours, yours _ in his head. Taron’s cock is hard between them but all his awareness has narrowed down to the plug inside him, the pressure of it against his walls, and the anticipation for what’s next.

Richard finally breaks the kiss, ducks his head to capture Taron’s plump nipple between his lips, sucks on it hard and Taron’s instantly clenching onto the plug and it’s clearly what Richard was aiming for judging by the satisfied hum and the smirk Taron can practically hear. “_Jesus_, Dickie.”

“Yes, love?” asks Richard, innocent. And then he’s reaching for his phone with one hand, playing with the nipple with the other. “Ready?”

Taron grasps Richard’s hand, tight. “Please,” he sighs. 

Richard moves his finger on the screen, just a tiny amount, and the toy comes to life, buzzing low in Taron’s most intimate place, and his eyes widen, every muscle in his body spasms and he arches his back, throws his head back, open-mouthed, he can’t _ think_, and then Richard must do something again, because the feeling _ intensifies _ and he curls up, surges up, it’s _ too much_, and then the strength of the vibration ebbs away and he flops back down onto his back, Richard stroking his thigh, gentle, over and over. 

“Good, love?” asks Richard. Taron stares at him and tries to remember words, the low rumble inside him still the centre of everything. “Yes. Yes. _ Yessss,” _as Richard turns it up again. He convulses again, sweating now, low moans hitching out of him, hands curling into the sheets. He’s vaguely aware Richard has opened his jeans, is now tugging on his own cock next to him, watching him with hooded eyes, dark with desire.

“Let’s try a pattern, shall we?” Richard says, a little hoarse, and he taps the screen a few times. Taron flings out a hand and grips Richard’s wrist, eyes locked on Richard’s deep blue, as the toy starts to pulse in him, low buzz, then intense burst, then a pause and back on. His hips start to buck, trying to fuck back onto the toy but it just moves with him, and he’s moaning continuously. “Oh _ fuck_, Richard… _ Ohhhhhhhhh… _” His eyes roll back in his head and again he arches clear off the bed. His cock is leaking constantly onto his belly now.

“_So fucking gorgeous, Taron. _Do you think you can come for me, just like this, T?”

“I don’t know. I… _ ohhhh _ don’t know… _ nghh.” _

“I’m going to turn this pattern all the way up, just for half a minute, see if you can?” Richard pauses, watches Taron closely, waiting for him, and eventually Taron nods.

And then the vibrations in him shake him to his core, the pulse almost painful, the low buzz now a jackhammer on his prostate, and he’s crying out, as his cock spurts pre-cum and his balls start to draw up and it doesn’t _ let up_, and just as he starts to curl around himself, Richard turns it down again to the lowest gentle hum, and says, almost mournful, “Oh, well, that was half a minute…”

And Taron is frantic, shameless. “Please, _ please, _ Richard, I can be good, _ please _let me come, please let me have it again…” And Richard smiles at him, indulgent, “Yesterday you said it was up to me when you come, love…”

Taron takes a shuddering breath, settles into the acceptance of that, centred in some undefinable way. 

Finally he nods. “Yes, Richard. Yours.”

And it’s Richard’s turn to take a breath, grasp his hard cock at the root. 

“_Mine_. And you are good, you’re so good, Taron, begging so prettily. Of course you can try again, sweetheart,” and he turns it on again, and Taron’s entire body contracts and then expands, and then his addled mind has a brainwave and he pulls Richard down on top of him and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him as he bucks and rides the waves of pleasure and arousal until he’s shooting jets of thick cum onto Richard’s chest and the sensation tips into overstimulation within seconds and he’s gasping, “_Turn it off… too much… turn it off” _and Richard does.

Taron’s sleepy and boneless as Richard strokes him gently, tells him how _ utterly brilliant _he is and talks him through removing the plug, and a warm cloth cleaning up the mess on his stomach. 

And then Richard is tucked in behind him, kissing his shoulder, and at some point he stripped the rest of his clothes off because Taron can feel Richard’s hard length against the curve of his bum. 

“You feel so good, T,” he says, rubbing against Taron, and moaning with it. “That was so fucking hot, sweetheart. I’m so hard for you. Jesus.”

“Mmm.” Taron’s come-drunk and still tingling inside and out. “Wanna make you feel good too. What do you need, babe?”

“_God_, T. Wanna be in you. I don’t know if… would that be too much?” He slides his cock between Taron’s thighs — he’s still so slippery there, and Richard groans deep and low. He fucks slowly in and out of that tight space, tucked up under Taron’s sensitive sac. The idea of Richard in him right now is a lot. But he’s also pliant and sparkly right now and he loves it when they make love. 

“I think… maybe slow? And see how we go?” he says. 

“Yeah, love, I can do slow. Just let me…” There’s a hand parting his cheeks again and Taron flushes as he remembers how open he’ll be, how he’s already loose and ready. Then there’s the familiar sensation of the warm head of Richard’s cock stretching him, and he can feel every nerve ending, as his body welcomes the thick glide of flesh into him, and Richard is moaning low in his ear, so slow, so smooth, no resistance at all. 

Taron clenches on Richard’s hardness, judders with it, oversensitive and full as he’s completely seated. Richard responds with a gasp and starts to pull back again, millimetre by millimetre, and they’re both holding their breath. Taron’s cock is soft, but twitches every so often as Richard makes love to him, fingers tracing down his side, kisses over and over on the back of his neck and on his shoulder blades. 

“I’m yours, Richard. Yours. Always. I love you. Yours…”

And Richard says, “_Mine_,” low, like a promise, thrusts all the way in and holds there, deep, and comes, hard inside him, wraps around him until they both fall asleep. 

***

Richard’s headed to Teesdale of all places to shoot _ 1917 _ and Taron’s tempted to send Jamie a text so that he’ll send all the lads round to take the piss on set — it’s not quite Billingham but it’s still County Durham and that’s close enough. 

Taron’s headed back to London and finally, his own flat, and his own bed. He is going to sleep for several days. Much as he loved meeting all of Richard’s friends, he needs a few moments to himself.

In the evenings, Richard phones and has him put the plug in and sometimes he even lets him come. He’s in love and amazed and he’s still floating from all of it.

A few days later, Richard texts a photo of a production sign near the Low Force waterfall that suggests walkers in the area shouldn’t be alarmed by the half-submerged bodies, since they’re prosthetic. Then he sends a shot of the bodies — Taron would be bloody alarmed coming across one of those on a Sunday stroll too — the props department has outdone themselves — and he texts back saying so. 

And then, far too quickly, it’s time to fulfil a promise to an old mate. 

When he agreed, years ago, to come and sing a song with Hugh on his tour, he had no idea the timing would mean he’d be coming off the tail end of the Rocketman juggernaut. He assumed he’d be recognised from Kingsman, that Hugh would make an Eddie joke, and he’d sing some random song picked by Mr Jackman. Instead, [ he’s on stage at the 02 arena in front of 19,000 people singing Your Song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G0_g1mxt3NQ) and Matthew Vaughn is in the audience and Hugh has just talked him up to the crowd and it makes him feel elated and so humbled all at once. It’s just about the most exhilarating thing he’s ever done. [ He’s walking on air](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByYmdKtFU94/). And Gareth and Tom are out there too, [ filming it for him](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByaS8TilGCC/). And when it’s all done, Hugh comes up grinning like a proud dad, arms outstretched for a hug, and Taron embraces him, tries to channel his absolute gratitude and Hugh indicates the crowd and says, “Take it all in, boy,” and he does his best, but it’s staggeringly overwhelming.

Back at his flat, afterwards, Taron makes himself a snack and props himself up in his kitchen under the neon blue Troubadour sign, cracks open a beer, and calls Richard and they talk late into the night, into the early hours of the morning, Taron still over the moon, and Richard so proud and pleased for him. It’s been so lovely to be in the same time zone.

Tomorrow Richard’s flying back to LA and Brandon again — his first time home for what must be almost a month; at least Taron got to be at home albeit fleetingly during the London stint of the premieres-and-press. 

“I miss the damn dog, can you believe it?”

“After watching you with Hector? I’d believe it.”

“What sort of dog would you want, if you had a dog?”

“Um, the feline kind? Sorry love, did you not know this about me? I’m a little scared of dogs. Hector was… a lot. He’s a bloody big dog.” Taron laughs. “But little ones are sometimes worse! Yappy little blighters.”

Of course, that means when [ Richard is out walking Charlie next day](https://lepetitbratprince.tumblr.com/post/185478080341/soo-im-out-in-hollywood-today-babysitting-the#notes), he sends nothing but photos of the mutt, captioned, “you’ve hurt Charlie’s feelings” and “Charlie says you’re doggist” whatever that means, and “Charlie’s step-dad misses you”, which makes him tear up a little. 

He misses him too, and it’s barely been two seconds. 

***

“So,” says Elton. “Tell me everything.”

Taron takes a sip of his champagne. It’s exquisite… he’s not usually one for bubbly but Elton’s introducing him to the finer things in life and he’s enjoying every moment. “Everything, eh?” he counters, with a challenging spark, and then laughs lightly. 

“You know all my dirty secrets. Turnabout is fair play,” Elton says, deadpan. 

“True, true.” He runs his fingers across the bracelet, turning it slowly around his wrist, and as always, it settles him, both the familiar repetitive movement and the reminder that he’s Richard’s. 

“He gave you that, didn’t he?”

“God, nothing slips by you, does it?” says Taron, amused and fond. “So what do you want to know that I haven’t told you by text? Richard wanted me to thank you for all the deep dicking. I told him to tell you himself, but he’s too shy.”

Elton laughs. “Ha! Tell him he’s welcome.”

And then somehow Taron’s telling Elton all of it, what it’s like to give up control, about craving approval and how freely Richard gives it out, how afraid he is to need someone this much, when the person he needs isn’t really _ his_. And somehow, because it’s Elton, he feels heard, and he’s not ashamed or embarrassed, because Elton’s done and seen it all before.

“So that’s all going very well… but I sense there’s something you’re not telling me still. Come on, Taron, spit it out.”

“When did you know you were going to come out?”

“Ahhh… the big question, then. I don’t think I made a conscious decision. When I was with Reid, he was so keen to hide it — as you know. And after we split up, there was an [ interview with _ Rolling Stone _ ](https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/elton-john-lonely-at-the-top-rolling-stones-1976-cover-story-238734/) and Cliff just asked me. And I just answered. But John was in the next room the whole time and I knew he didn’t want anyone to know about him, so I lied, even as I was partially telling the truth…”

“Richard and Brandon hate all this ‘coming out’ palaver. They just want to be who they are,” says Taron.

“Don’t we all, darling? You know my position on all this — we all deserve a private life, family life. When I couldn’t walk down the street, it was hell. But what do _ you _ want?”

Taron laughs, quiet, mournful. “Fuck knows.”

“I think you do,” says Elton, quiet right back. “Know, I mean, what you want.”

Taron rubs the back of his head, looks away. Starts singing “I want love” with a chuckle and Elton pokes him in the knee.

“Seems to me you’ve _ got _ that.”

Taron ducks his head. “Yes, I do.”

“So what is it you want? To shout it from the rooftops? Far as I can see, you’re already kissing him in public every time I turn around. You want to hold his hand? Marry him? Have kids?” Taron looks up. “Ah,” says Elton. “Well, obviously, I understand that one too. Not something that exactly fits into your lifestyle right now, though. So it’s not that, at least not right away…”

“No, it’s not any of that. It’s about… hiding, I guess. Lying. My mam always taught me to be honest, and this feels like I’m sneaking around.”

“So what would being honest look like?”

***

And that’s how he ends up [ on stage with Elton as the sun’s setting](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djbYnvpvWso), wearing a tight black T-shirt with a huge bloody rainbow on it — and it feels _ right _ and he feels _ proud _ and all of a sudden, he understands why it’s called Pride month. He walks out arms raised towards Elton, and embraces him, resplendent in a hot pink gown, lifts his arm up triumphant and then kisses the back of Elton’s hand, like the gentleman he is faced with royalty. 

Elton hands him the microphone and Taron gives him a thumbs up as Elton sits at the piano, smiles at him, and then those first notes tinkle out, and Elton is singing, _ I’m not one of those who can easily hide _ and it’s _ this song _ again, _ his song_, full circle, the one that started it all, and he’s almost overwhelmed. He’s a little bit shaky on his first notes, but by the time he gets to singing _ my gift is my song — and this one’s for you _ to _ Elton_, he’s found his strength, and he points straight at the man. He’s thinking, _ thank you, for everything, for this afternoon, for Richard, _ and then they come to the chorus and they’re both singing _ how wonderful life is, while you’re in the world _ directly to each other, as though they’re alone, not in front of thousands of people. Elton’s wearing hot pink heart-shaped sunglasses, and Taron’s wearing his favourite yellow-tinted lenses. The sky is stunning — fire and rose and deepest blue — and when Elton is singing again, those famous lines about the sweetest eyes, Taron can’t help but be mesmerised by him. When it’s over, Elton comes over to him and he whispers, _ thank you _ to him and kisses him on the cheek. [ Memories to last a lifetime. ](https://www.instagram.com/p/Byh9PynlNKx/)

After they’re done, he gets hold of the picture of that moment, [ posts it to instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/BygOhGuF-Wv/), and then texts it to Richard, captioned simply, “this one’s for you”.

He gets a text back almost immediately, saying “I love you. So proud of you.”

And then, “Would you believe we’re skipping LA Pride Parade to help Brandon’s mother cook?” and a photo of a table set with more cheese, cheese cake, cream cakes and dairy in general than he’s ever seen in one place. 

He starts to reply and then just decides to FaceTime. Richard picks up almost immediately.

“Hello, beautiful. That was amazing.”

“So, you liked the photo?”

“Oh, darling,” says Richard. “Gareth practically livestreamed the whole concert to us.”

“Get out!” says Taron, beyond thrilled.

“You were magnificent. We loved it.” Taron is so utterly chuffed — he puts his hand on his chest as he feels his heart swell. Richard angles the phone, and Taron can now see Brandon and his mum waving in the background. Brandon’s mum calls out, “Hi, Taron, nice to meet you!” and Brandon comes over to crowd into the small screen.

“That was like, just _ incredible_, Taron,” says Brandon.

“Thanks, man,” Taron says, and he needs to change the subject or he’ll start crying. “What on earth is with all the cheese?”

“Jewish festival,” says Brandon. “We’re not that religious, but there are some things you can’t ignore and one of them is cheesecake, cheese and more cheese for Shavuot.”

“It’s a good thing I’m no allergic,” says Richard.

“Or vegan!” says Taron. And they laugh, easy.

“I like your shirt, Taron,” says Brandon. “Happy Pride.”

“Happy Pride,” says Taron, warm all the way through. “Take care of our man, yeah?”

And Brandon says, “Of course I will.”

And Richard scoffs at them both, and says, “I’m older than both of ye, an’ I can take care of meself!” but he’s pleased, and his eyes sparkle with love for the pair of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was researching Brandon initially, and discovered he was Jewish, I immediately googled when Shavuot was because I was pretty sure it fell within my timeline. And being Jewish myself, I was gleeful about the idea of Richard going to Shavuot dinner and being exposed to the weirdness that is dairy overload at Shavuot. The comments about dairy intolerance are personal and it’s a long-standing pain. ANYHOW, at one point this part of the timeline was going to be in Richard’s POV and I googled when LA Pride was with the full intention of having Brandon and Richard go to it. But then it turned out to be the same day as Shavuot and with no photo evidence they went, this outcome was kind of inevitable.


	9. the swallow and the sycamore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard and Alfie attend a GoT event at a tech conference — it's as weird as it sounds; Brandon goes sightseeing in Boston; Richard and Brandon get fashionable in Milan; seriously, half the queer actors in the world get fashionable in Milan; Taron is a very good boy; Richard makes a video for Father and Son Day; Taron is a gelfling; Alex Skarsgard is a good ally; happy birthday, Richard.
> 
> Our cameo count goes up by 10, from Richard's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. Wow, I don't even know where to begin.
> 
> This chapter has undergone some serious rearranging in the past three weeks, with whole conversations moved from here to later chapters, and emotional beats shifted entirely, and new conversations and foreshadowing added as recently as yesterday. With that in mind, eternal thanks to [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus) for re-reading this chapter at least three times and going through again yesterday and still paying enough attention to pick up places where the language needed tightening, and to Em, for re-reading and spotting a key inconsistency that remained after one conversation had been shifted — fixing that has added layers and hints that make the next chapter better. Thank you both for cheerleading and for going with it when I said I was completely overhauling this whole section.
> 
> Thank you to [egertonsend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Egertonsend/pseuds/Egertonsend) for Alfie-picking — you didn't know me at all and generously helped me out as a favour to a friend and I really appreciate it. 
> 
> As a result of the overhaul, I'm revising the chapter count to 16 + epilogue.

“I don’t understand. What is this thing? I thought it was a Game of Thrones panel?” Brandon is looking at the programme guide for the event Richard is co-hosting tonight in Boston. It’s another early start for another five hour flight. 

“I don’t even know, sweetheart. It’s some kind of tech gathering? And this is their closing night party or summat, and [ it’s Game of Thrones themed](https://www.liveworx.com/mix) and they’re paying me a lot of money.”

“What the hell is ‘cornhole’?”

“I don’t really want to know. At least Alfie will be there to share my pain. Have you seen my bomber jacket?”

“I packed it already, love. In the bag for Milan.”

“Thanks.”

“So you’ll forgive me if I don’t join you at that thing tonight then?”

“Lord yes. Go enjoy yourself! What else is on?”

Brandon scrolls on his phone for a second. “Summer in the City, conveniently starting today. Sounds like there are some rag-time bands playing… Meet me for dinner after?”

“Course, love,” says Richard, distracted. “Book something? Seafood?”

“Done.” There’s companionable silence while Brandon reads his phone and Richard keeps packing. “Hey, this [ Vanity Fair piece](https://variety.com/2019/tv/features/amy-adams-richard-madden-1203235515/amp/) is fabulous, hon. I don’t know what you were worried about.”

***

“Alfie! So good tae see you, man.” Richard feels that Alfie might have [ dressed down a little _ too _ much for this](https://twitter.com/LiveWorx/status/1138939802005512193) — plain blue T-shirt over jeans. Richard’s all in black with a tan jacket — this crowd might be geeks, but they’re smartly dressed ones for the most part.

“Far too long. What have you roped me into then?” says Alfie, looking around. The venue is massive — outdoors, with a huge stage, and white, glowing, neon plastic hoops hanging from frames that people are swinging on. Richard has to acknowledge it’s not what he expected either.

“‘Digital disruption’, apparently.” There are air quotes. 

“Bunch of pretentious tossers, if you ask me.”

“I’m starting to quite enjoy having access to fast cars whenever I want them, so I’ll accept that…”

“Didn’t mean you, mate.”

“If the shoe fits…” Richard laughs. He knows what he is. He’s been friends with Jeremy for long enough to know that he enjoys the finer things in life.

Alfie persuades him to [ pose for a selfie](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByoOsVsnvuF/?igshid=ay84xduiaqjh) and then one of the organisers comes up to walk them through the evening — there are actually people dressed as White Walkers stalking around, which is utterly freaky, and more than a thousand people, which Richard was expecting, but still, crowds are not his favourite thing.

They do fan photos on some red carpet someone has set up and honestly, [ some of the fans are just _ rude_](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/D85m9YNXoAAgWtO.jpg)_. _

The actual ‘panel’ part is also so awkward — they’re standing on the stage with head mikes and no chairs and Richard has no idea what to do with his hands, so he spends most of the time with them shoved into his pockets.

The interviewer isn’t great either. “When you first heard about it, what did you think?”

“What?” says Richard, “The show?”

“Yeah, yeah,” says the guy.

“I kind of thought it was going to be this niche cult show that a few people might get into,” he says, and the guy laughs, “and then it got, you know, a bit bigger than that…”

It’s so cringeworthy and American — this terrible schtick about it being cold (we get it, winter is coming) and fake snow and then the White Walkers again and getting the crowd to yell [ “Disruption is coming!”](https://twitter.com/RoblemVR/status/1138941632823345152?s=20).

He’s so, so glad when it’s over — but then he has to socialise. He wishes he could text Taron and bitch about it all but it’s the middle of the night in London, dammit. When the whole thing is done, Richard and Alfie stay back for a last drink. “Come tae dinner with us? Brandon’s booked a restaurant for the three of us.”

Alfie looks uncomfortable. “Look, I’d love to, but I’m jet-lagged and I think I’ll just turn in.”

Richard’s not an idiot. He frowns. “What’s really going on? We’re still mates, aren’t we?”

Alfie looks away and back, clears his throat. “Sam’s my cousin, Rich. And Brandon’s the twat that broke their heart. I know you’re with him — any fool knows that, it’s been all over — and I want you to be happy. But I don’t think me coming to dinner with you both is a good idea.”

Oh. _ Well, _ that’s _awkward._

“No, I understand,” he says, finally. “Sorry tae hear it, though.” And Alfie claps him on the shoulder, and heads off to say goodbye and thank you to the conference crew, and Richard is left on his own.

***

The [ restaurant](https://row34.com) is one of those places with a concrete floor and high ceilings, and a huge raw bar piled high with ice and oysters in the middle. It’s late but the kitchen is still open and the place is buzzing. Richard takes a moment while he waits to flick a couple of the photos from the night to Taron — he should be waking up soon?

It’s obvious the waiter has [ recognised Richard](https://twitter.com/jeong_austin/status/1138996225095720961) but he’s being reasonably discreet, thank goodness, and it’s obvious when Brandon arrives and Richard waves him over that he [ recognises him too](https://twitter.com/jeong_austin/status/1138996488703533057).

“No Alfie?” asks Brandon, once he’s settled. 

“Sorry, love. He… went back to his hotel.” He doesn’t know how to tell Brandon but doesn’t want to lie either. Brandon nods like he understands anyhow, like maybe he expected it. 

The menu looks incredible but Richard is pretty exhausted and just wants food so he tells Brandon to order — anything, so long as it’s not a burger. It doesn’t take long for fresh oysters, pollock croquettes and fish tacos to appear along with a bottle of Pouilly Fumé with a superb nose and an even better palate.

“You’re a genius, love,” says Richard, taking a long sip. “Tonight was bloody weird.” He pulls out his phone and shows Brandon photos of the [ neon swings and the bizarre game space](https://www.signatureboston.com/lawn-on-d). “And I found out what cornhole is — you take a sack of dried corn and try to throw it into a hole in a plank of wood. But that weren’t the worst of it. Some of these people were getting very fucking competitive about the ping pong.” He laughs, “I never thought I’d be saying I was thankful to be stuck doing photo opportunities with the Iron Throne.” 

Brandon laughs, easy as always. It’s refreshing to be with him — he’s just _ fun_. “But enough about that. How was your evening?”

“Lovely. Like, honestly. [ The jazz, the sunshine…](https://twitter.com/valeriawali/status/1138967430175350784) I went for a walk by the Harbor. Only one person stopped me for a selfie.”

“Sounds fabulous,” sighs Richard, wistful, half-watching the waiter walk by with some incredible butterscotch concoction and a chocolate brownie sundae. 

“Okay, love, I see you eyeing those desserts.” Brandon lifts the menu again. “I’ll go halfsies with you for the peach cobbler? And we’ll hit the gym before we leave for the airport to make up for it.”

***

If this is Friday, it must be Milan. Honestly, Richard has lost track of the last time he was in the same city for a full week. It’s possible it was in February which is — three months ago? No wonder he’s exhausted. 

The flight was fine — Boston-Frankfurt, short stopover, Frankfurt-Milan. Chatted with a nice enough guy on the Frankfurt leg while Brandon slept and pretended not to know him. 

Richard’s been to [ Milano Moda Uomo](https://www.cameramoda.it/en/milano-moda-uomo/calendar/) — men’s fashion week — a couple of times now, has favourite coffee houses, knows his way around, and everything. They’ve got a day to go sightseeing before the official events this evening and the first show either of them is invited to isn’t till tomorrow, and so they meander around, stopping for the occasional selfie with an Italian fan, to gaze into incredibly well appointed window displays and dream about buying one of everything, and to ever-so-subtly point out hot men to each other, for appreciation and to stoke the imagination for later.

He gets a text from Taron, one of the kinds he really looks forward to these days.

_ 5.45pm: Thinking of you. _

**5.46pm: Are you now? Where are you?**

_ 5.47pm: Home. Bed. _

**5.47pm: And? 😇**

_ 5.48pm: Want to come, Richard. _

**5.48pm: Are you asking?**

_ 5.49pm: Yes. Please? _

**5.50pm: Not yet. **

_ 5.50pm: Oh god. _

**5.55pm: OK, I’m somewhere private now. You may, but show me. **

And then his phone rings and it’s video, just Taron’s cock and a hand moving so fast it’s a blur and his moans through the Airpods as he spurts wildly and it’s magnificent.

***

They end up in a bar with what feels like the cream of the world’s out gay celebrities — Brandon’s _ 13 Reasons Why _ castmate Tommy Dorfman, Zachary Quinto, an Australian swimmer named Ian Thorpe, and a Spanish hottie called Pelayo Diaz — and Pelayo’s boyfriend and Tommy’s husband. Their little crew includes Darren Criss and Alex Skarsgard again, and there’s a few moments of introductions.

Rob Raco and Alex Pettyfer come up to them at one point, and Rob gives Tommy a quick bro-hug. 

“Hello, hello, my new Fendi friends,” says Tommy.

“What is this?” laughs Rob, looking around. “The gay mafia? Should I leave?”

“You can stay, Raco,” teases Brandon, “since you’ve played gay. That’s why Darren gets a pass here too.”

“I’ve won awards for playing gay, thank you very much,” says Darren.

Alex puts his hand up. “Excuse me, sir, does playing a thousand-year-old pansexual vampire count?” Everyone laughs. 

“You also [ rock a gold-sequinned dress](http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/alexander-skarsgard-drag_us_55c0f00be4b0c9fdc75e1362), so you’re in, sweetheart,” says Richard.

“Oh, you saw that, did you?” and Alex winks at Richard, who blushes, knowing full well _ Diary of a Teenage Girl _isn’t his style and he’s just been clocked checking the man out. 

Mahershala Ali heads towards them from the bar, carrying a white wine. 

“This definitely seems like where the fun is at… mind if I join you?”

“You absolutely qualify,” says Brandon.

“Qualify?” queries Mahershala.

“We’ve just determined this group is reserved for people who’ve won an award for playing gay…” says Darren.

“And Tarell McCraney’s a friend of mine,” says Brandon, “so doubly welcome from me.”

“Ah,” says Mahershala, raising his glass. “Cheers, then. But on one level, isn’t that a little awkward, for those of you who are gay? Or bisexual? I’m not complaining about winning awards, but I sometimes feel it’s our version of Nicole Kidman or Charlize Theron getting an award for allowing themselves to be made ugly…”

“Oh, ouch,” says Tommy. “But accurate, I think.” And then the conversation turns to the thinly veiled homophobia in Hollywood, the fascination it has with the closet and salacious gossip. The pressure to come out, and the circus that results when you do — someone mentions Jake Borelli and Alex Landi, currently playing a couple on _ Grey’s Anatomy_, one of whom has come out and the other of whom hasn’t. Tommy mentions the [ added complexity of gender identity](https://www.teenvogue.com/story/tommy-dorfman-pride-asos-glaad-non-gendered-clothing) and coming out a second time.

“I’m out,” says Brandon. “But I never _ came out_. I mean, I came out to my parents as a teenager, but the media made up their minds for me based on assumptions. They’ve labelled me. I have no problems saying I’m into men,” and here he looks at Richard, beams at him, “but I don’t want to be a _ gay actor _ or a _ bi actor_, I just want to be an actor.”

“I just can’t stand the bloody intrusion into my business. I’ve always been this private,” says Richard. “It has nothing to do with the gender of the person I’m sleeping with.”

“I can understand that,” says Zachary, “But on the other hand… I came out because I wanted teenagers like me to have role-models, [ after that teenaged boy killed himself](https://edition.cnn.com/2011/10/16/showbiz/zachary-quinto-gay/index.html), I just felt I had to.” There are nods around the group. “And weirdly, it made it easier when Miles and I broke up in January, because the reporting was pretty much like what it would be for anyone and I didn’t have to pretend nothing was happening in my life.”

Pelayo exchanges a look with his boyfriend, Andy, then reaches out and holds his hand. “I know what you mean. My [ ex-boyfriend David died of cancer](https://www.instagram.com/p/BU7HppfDWhh/) many years ago, and I don’t know what I would have done if I’d had to pretend not to have loved him.”

There’s a small silence, and then murmured agreement, empathy and condolences. 

“I’m sorry to hear that you and Miles broke up, Zachary — you were together for ages, weren’t you?” says Ian. 

“Six years,” says Zachary. “And yeah, I’m sorry too…”

“I’m coming up to four years with Ryan but we’re on the rocks. I’m not looking forward to the publicity.”

And then Mena Massoud comes in, and the spell is broken, the group just a bit too big to maintain one conversation, and it splits into spirited clusters, talking about _ Pose_, about fashion, about who is going to which shows tomorrow, and Richard hangs back and listens, until Zachary says he’s going for a smoke, and Richard mutters, “Thank god…” under his breath and gets up to join him, while Alex gives both of them filthy looks and mimes dying. 

***

Brandon looks absolutely stunning when he gets dressed for Versace. [ Black suit and a shirt in black and white geometrics that has Richard absolutely drooling](https://www.gettyimages.ae/detail/news-photo/brandon-flynn-attends-the-versace-fashion-show-during-the-news-photo/1156119764). “My god, love, you should wear suits more often.”

Brandon bats his eyelashes at Richard. “Why? So you can peel me out of them later?”

“Absolutely. Here, let me help…” Richard undoes a few of the buttons at the collar, smooths it back so he can see Brandon’s [ Pyrrha necklace](https://pyrrha.com/products/direction). “There.”

“So I’m more presentable now?” Brandon smirks. There’s a knock at the door, and Richard lets Daniel in.

“Wow. Wow. [ I need sunglasses to look at that suit](https://twitter.com/eehisun/status/1139942909376180224/photo/2),” exlaims Richard.

“Hello to you too, you bastard.” He reaches out to Brandon, hand outstretched. “Hi, I’m Daniel Marks.”

“Brandon Flynn,” says Brandon, shaking his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you. And that is a remarkably pink suit.”

“I decided on subtle, given it was fashion week, you know? Ready?”

“Ready,” says Brandon. “We’ll see you later, babe?”

“Not if I see you first. Which won’t be hard with that suit.” Richard kisses Brandon goodbye, a little perfunctory in front of Daniel and he watches Brandon notice and nod imperceptibly.

And then Brandon and Daniel are off to Versace — it’s just a short walk down to Via Gesù — and Richard is left to his own devices. He texts Taron pretty much immediately.

**14.08pm Hey lover. You around? **

_ 14.08pm Out and about. I miss you! _

**14.09pm Miss you too. **

They’ve been texting every day but it’s not the same. 

**14.09pm Time for a call?**

_ 14.10pm Sure! Gimme two secs. _

Richard settles himself down on the bed to wait, crosses his socked ankles and leans back, [ adjusting two overstuffed pillows against the headboard](https://www.pearleye.it/virtualtour/8/armanimilano/en/index.html?s=pano11733&skipintro=true). He looks out across the rooftops of Milan through the window and admires the gorgeous architecture of the building across the road. 

He’s lost in his thoughts so his phone ringing startles him a little, in the end. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” he purrs. 

“Ah, I have missed your voice, old man. Is yesterday seriously the first day we haven’t spoken in months?”

“Y’know, I think it might’ve been.” He’s surprised, really. He thinks about it for a moment more. “No, love. When I was at Ashbocking with my phone off.”

“Right. Anyhow, sorry about that. Just leaving the studio for a coffee and had to pay, but I’m sweet now. What you up to?”

“Hotel room — B’s gone to a show with Dan. We’re splitting the duties. How’s gelfling life treating you, then?”

“Very well, thank you. Just some last minute ADR now. Anything interesting crossing your desk?”

“Not yet? Talk of Bodyguard season 2, couple of films with Romeo roles that I’ve obviously said no to… Before you even ask, haven’t heard from Barbara about Bond. You? Anything challenging enough?”

“I don’t want to jinx myself but — yes? I’ll tell you when I see you?”

“I might have other things I want to do when I see you than talk shop,” says Richard. “Wish you were somewhere more private right now…”

“You’re obsessed, you know that, right, Dickie?”

“With you? Absolutely. I have all sorts of thoughts about things I want to do to ye, things I want to try…”

Taron makes a noise on the other end of the line, a tiny whine. “You know, right, that this is more sex, pretty much, than I’ve _ ever _had in my life? Emily and I would go camping together when our schedules lined up and have lovely lazy times together, but when we were apart there was nothing.”

“Is it too much? I’m not sure I can tone down how much I want you but I can try.”

“I love knowing how much you want me, darling. It’s just a lot. But when will I see you next?”

“We’ll be back on the 18th but I think mum wants to see me for my birthday dinner. Are you free for lunch day after that?”

“Yeah, should be. I’m recording Elton’s autobiography but it’s more flexible than shooting.”

“Wonderful.”

“And after that, the next time I’ll see you will be Glastonbury! I am so pumped for it!”

“God, me too love. I had the [ best time there last time](https://www.joe.ie/movies-tv/nobody-enjoyed-glastonbury-more-than-the-game-of-thrones-cast-593131) and I cannot wait to share it with you.” He kicks himself mentally. “Dammit, I still haven’t talked to Brandon about that properly. I will though.”

There’s a sound in the background where Taron is and he talks to someone briefly. “Break’s over, love, sorry. Got to get back to being a gelfling.”

“Such a hard life.” Richard pauses. “So… you can hold out for four days, right? You’ve done that before for me…”

Taron clearly stifles a sharp breath. “Yes, Richard,” he says, quietly. 

“You can still play, touch yourself as much as you want while you think about me but just... don’t come.”

“Yes, Richard. Good grief, you’re sending me back to work hard. I don’t really think there’s a place for this in Rian’s character, mate. You’re a wicked, wicked man.”

“You love it.”

“I do. You’re lucky! Bye, love.”

“Talk soon. Love you.” Richard ends the call and unbuttons his pants. It doesn’t take him long to come at all, imagining Taron hard and begging, writhing with want. 

*** 

Richard and Brandon sleep in, and have a lazy brunch. Richard texts Taron a cheery good morning and a photo of his eggs and smoked salmon, but doesn’t get an immediate reply. Maybe Taron’s having an even lazier start to his Sunday. 

Then they’ve got Daniel coming over to pose for a [ photo for Father and Son Day](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByxVs1UAPer/), like they have for the last five years. Brandon’s like a bouncy puppy taking the snap and then goads him into [ making a video](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByxVs1UAPer/) (_Get with the program, old man! _ Old man? Cheeky bugger.) He’s all coy, talking off the cuff to camera, and it doesn’t help that it’s Brandon behind it. He shifts his weight from foot to foot and almost ducks his head at one point. He’s gesturing too much with his hands, has to stop himself from twisting them into his T-shirt. He feels so _ awkward_, like the shy kid he was decades ago, but Brandon plays it back to him and says it looks cute. Daniel’s going to edit it and work out approved captions then send it back to Richard later, and to be honest, by this point, they’re running late for the Etro show if they want to make it — Gareth’s been raving about them recently and Taron’s been wearing a lot of the label. It’s a little further away than everything else, but it’s a glorious day (a little too hot, if you ask Richard — this European heat wave has been a bit of a worry) and it’s a nice enough walk.

Taron still hasn’t texted but Richard sends him photos of the pieces he thinks T might like, how good his arse would look in those pants, how much he’d like to tear off that shirt. 

After the show, Richard and Brandon grab bread, cheese and salami from a nearby store and a bottle of wine from another, take a stroll to Parco Formentano, and sit on the green grass for an impromptu picnic. 

Daniel sends Richard the caption for the video, complete with the phone number to make sure the donations go to the right place, and Richard posts it to his Instagram. Brandon posts [ a sun emoji as a comment](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/D9MCR4BUEAE8gq0.jpg) on Richard’s video, and Richard pokes him and reminds him to do his own father’s day post and [ he says he’ll get around to it](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByxaeOUl1hx/). Then Brandon points out that Richard’s video says Milan on it — he really needs to pay more attention, dammit! — so he edits the post and removes the location. 

He checks his texts — still nothing from Taron — which is unusual.

“You okay, hon?” asks Brandon, watching Richard’s frown of concentration as he works out the right words. “Taron still hasn’t texted?”

Richard rubs at his face, under his sunglasses. “I’m trying not to read to much into it, but no, he hasn’t.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, babe.”

“I know,” Richard says, and he quickly checks there’s no one watching and leans over to kiss Brandon softly on the mouth. They finish their wine, wrap up the rest of the taleggio and bread for later, and head back to Brera and the hotel. 

They have dinner at Jamaica Bar, one of Richard’s favourite spots from last time, eating upstairs at the restaurant, on a double date with Tommy and Pete, when Taron texts him back a string of love hearts and ‘you’re wicked and I love you’ and he smiles and relaxes back into Brandon’s arm across the back of his chair, exchanges a glance and a nod with him, and tunes back into the conversation. 

***

Monday’s another day they mostly have to themselves. Fendi’s at 10am but that’s Tommy’s gig, not theirs, Brandon has no official obligations and Armani isn’t till 5pm.

At 4.30pm, Richard checks his dark navy suit and black tee in the mirror one more time, kisses Brandon farewell and leaves to meet Roberta Armani in the foyer. She introduces him to Samuel L Jackson and he’s momentarily starstruck. Jackson is resplendent in white seersucker with an emerald green shirt, and he immediately grins at Richard and reaches out to shake his hand.

“Richard!” he booms. “Wonderful to meet you, and I hear through my sources you’re joining my team?”

Richard grins, utterly disarmed. “Indeed, but not quite. Looking forward to it!”

“Shall we?” says Roberta, indicating the door. She and Richard exit to the street, [ chatting and smiling under the gaze of television cameras and flashbulbs](https://twitter.com/_lapoftherog/status/1140638099048976384), and Jackson follows after them. He catches up with them, though and [ the three of them walk down to the Giorgio Armani Spa together](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dpXmtEBRSkQ).

Among the greenery and the roman columns, [ he stands where he’s told](https://www.gettyimages.com.au/detail/news-photo/richard-madden-roberta-armani-and-samuel-l-jackson-arrive-news-photo/1156484194?uiloc=thumbnail_more_from_this_event_adp), smiles when he’s told, looks serious when he’s told, sunglasses on, sunglasses off, while the photographers call out, ‘over here, this way!’ from three different directions. He exchanges a long-suffering glance with Alex, who’s dealing with the same thing, and they walk in together. [ He ends up sitting between him and Jackson, with Ian Thorpe also in the front row. ](https://media.gettyimages.com/photos/ian-thorpe-marco-mengoni-samuel-l-jackson-richard-madden-and-attend-picture-id1156489630?s=2048x2048)

They watch the parade of gorgeous creatures, draped in silks and linens, sharp waistcoats and soft pants. The conversation flows easily too, and during a pause in proceedings, Alex says to him, low, “I didn’t want to say it the other night, but I totally understand about the media circus. They’re constantly obsessed with which woman I’m with, who I’ve broken up with. And then there’s the speculation about my sexuality. You should have heard the crazy [ rumours about me and Luke Evans](https://archiveofourown.org/series/169100).”

And Richard smiles at him, grateful. “They were like that with me and Ellie and with me and Jenna too. I do think they’re worse when they sniff scandal.”

“I saw how you look at that man of yours though. That shouldn’t be a scandal. That just looks like love to me.”

“Am I that obvious?” Richard looks back to the catwalk. 

“Yes, but it’s delightful. I wish you both every happiness.”

And Richard turns back to Alex, and says, sincerely, “Thank you,” thinking, _ I’m finding allies in the most unexpected places_.

Before they part, Alex claps him on the shoulder and says, “See you in Glastonbury!” 

And Richard replies, “Only two weeks to go!” Not that he’s counting or anything. 

***

Back in London for his birthday, he and Brandon play the stupid game they play where one of them checks into the hotel and the other checks in 10 minutes later, which at least stops the paps, even if it [ doesn’t stop the fans](https://twitter.com/five3666/status/1140998515247714305). They unpack their things, shower and sneak out the back exit as soon as they can.

In the cab, Richard texts his mother to tell her they’re on their way to Shoreditch.

Brandon has picked the restaurant and made all the arrangements — it _ is _ Richard’s birthday after all — and it’s incredible: an open terrace on the rooftop of the South Place hotel, and they’re having the seven-course tasting menu and matching wines. His mother and father tease them both about spending far too much but he can tell they’re secretly enjoying it, so he teases them back about getting used to the high life after Monaco.

When the meal is over, his parents give him their gift. 

“Now, I know this is a little sentimental of me,” says Pat, “but if you’re going to be living across an ocean, we don’t want for you tae go forgetting us.”

Richard quirks an eyebrow at that, but unwraps the package. “Aww, mum,” he says, and shows Brandon. It’s one of those double photo frames, edged in silver, hinge in the middle, with a picture of his family as they were when he was young on one side, and them as they are now on the other side in four separate slots — his parents in one, and Cara, Lauren and himself in the others.

He reaches out a hand to her, squeezes. “Thank you, I’ll treasure it. But I’ll be over here filming often, ye ken?”

“Aye,” she says, wiping a tear away. “I ken, but it’s not the same.”

“We love you, son,” says Dick.

“I got you something too,” says Brandon. “It’s a bit extravagant and the timing is a little ridiculous, but…” He pushes a little envelope across the table and Richard looks at him with one eyebrow raised, opens it. It’s plane tickets back to Italy and reservations at an exclusive resort in Puglia. He’s absolutely astounded. “It means missing Glastonbury…” Brandon continues. “I’m really sorry about that, I know you were looking forward to it, but it was the only booking that worked with both of our schedules.”

Oh. That’s going to be a problem, he just knows it. Taron is going to be really cranky with him. And he can see now that he can’t just ask Brandon to postpone. _ God_. Hopefully Taron will forgive him?

“That’s incredible, love,” he manages. “I don’t know what to say.”

And then, it’s time for them to go, and there’s hugs all around and Richard and Brandon go back to their hotel.

“I have something else for you,” says Brandon, “but I wanted to give it to you in private.” Brandon retrieves a small package from his suitcase and comes back to Richard.

“The dinner and the holiday weren’t enough, darling?”

Brandon hands him the package. “Open it?”

Richard tears off the paper and inside is a small Pyrrha box. 

“I wanted to get you one that said soul mates or everlasting love, but that would have been too obvious,” says Brandon.

Richard lifts the lid off the box and opens the little cloth bag, lifting out the [ talisman necklace](https://pyrrha.com/collections/talismans/products/follow-your-dreams), to go with his other two. It’s embossed with an eagle and a rose, and the little card says it’s about following your dreams. His heart swells as he looks back up at his lover.

Brandon’s eyes just sparkle constantly, thinks Richard. And that smile is contagious — so incredibly genuine; it lights up his whole face. Brandon’s eyes flick down and he’s blushing, too _ seen_, too _ exposed_, and Richard is smiling back at him, open and radiating love with his whole being, just blessed. It spills out of him, overflows. “I love you, Brandon. My god, I love you _ so much_.” Brandon’s eyes flick back up to meet Richard’s and he melts a little. 

“Happy birthday, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't have known about the Boston trip if it weren't for [datalounge](https://www.datalounge.com/thread/24103982-%F0%9F%8C%88richard-madden-and-brandon-flynn-part-30-charlie-s-dads). So thank you to the stans there. But seriously, what the hell was that event??? Anyhow. 
> 
> Alfie Allen really is Sam Smith's third cousin. Like, what are the odds?
> 
> Thank you to waiters at restaurants who post Richard and Brandon sightings to Twitter and give me enough clues in their profiles that I can find the restaurant they work at via their LinkedIn and then find the restaurant menu and yeah... um... 
> 
> Thank you to the gay/bi/queer celebs and those who play gay for happening to be the people who actually went to Milan Men's Fashion Week this year and made it possible for me to create that incredible conversation at the bar. I don't post all of my receipts, because sometimes it's just one line in an interview, but all of the breakups and relationships and attitudes expressed in that scene are genuine. Thank you to Milan Men's Fashion Week for posting a full calendar of events complete with times, locations and maps for each show.
> 
> Thanks to the awesomely twisted souls who wrote 200 parts of Alex Skarsgard/Luke Evans RPF that I referenced as 'rumours'. I very much enjoyed stumbling on that while checking my tags one week and I wish I could make that the canon for this story... I've left it a little ambiguous for those who would like it as their headcanon.
> 
> I spent far too long on the Pyrrha web site trying to choose a talisman for Brandon to give Richard. I now want about 15 of them.
> 
> Wow. This week was epic. Thanks for joining us on this crazy rollercoaster.


	10. like a king bee misses honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taron gives Richard a birthday present; Richard really is rubbish at scheduling; Richard and Taron argue about Glastonbury; Taron makes some poor life decisions about the benefits of make-up sex; it almost gets out of hand, but thank goodness it doesn't; Richard is confused; Taron goes home to Aberwystyth to recuperate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, without a shadow of a doubt, the hardest thing I've ever written in my life. I've foreshadowed this a little bit in comments on the last few chapters but things start to go a little off the rails in this chapter. Taron safewords for emotional reasons in this chapter. If you want to skip the problematic parts, skip from "After lunch, Taron rolls another joint." to "Richard assures him over and over that he loves him".
> 
> I'm adding spoilers in the endnotes for those who want more information about what happens. I don't want to tag for 'dubious consent' because in my mind, as someone on the ace spectrum who has made exactly these kinds of decisions about sex, it's not dubious, just really poor judgement. On the other hand, I managed to trigger myself writing this, so forewarned is forearmed. If you want to ask me any questions about this on tumblr, please don't hesitate to send me a private message.
> 
> And having said all that, I want to express even more gratitude than usual to heavensfallingaroundus and Em, who both read this chapter multiple times after I changed it to add in a conversation that was originally in the last chapter, to the former for diligent spotting of all the stray Richard POV that was left over after that shift and to the latter for dealing with tearful late night conversations in which both of us worked through the emotions brought up by the decisions Taron makes and how much we wished we'd ever had anyone react like Richard reacts. Or even, for that matter, that we'd had the fortitude to call a halt to proceedings like Taron does here. I also want to give a shout-out to one of you, Ana, who picked up very early on that I was setting up lovely communication, then picked up way back in chapter 2 that Richard's poor scheduling was going to be an issue and anticipated that the communication breakdown in the last chapter didn't bode well. Hugs in advance.
> 
> Obviously, this is a work of fiction. No matter how many Instagram links and real-world interviews I include, the rest is entirely made-up. I'm sorry — this isn't going to be easy. I promise you, there's a happy ending.

Theoretically, Taron has been home for two weeks, but the whole ‘sleep for a couple of days’ thing didn’t really happen until after the concert with Elton at Brighton. 

And since then, on days when he’s not working, well, he’s been a bit restless, all the whirlwind winding down, bashing around solo in his flat. He wakes up and isn’t sure what to do with himself. He pokes around his email, texts Richard, looks at Instagram and Twitter, watches trashy movies, texts Richard, listens to his vinyl, texts Richard.

Sunday, for example, wasn’t a great day. He felt a bit _ left out_, what with Brandon and Richard gallivanting around Milan, Elton on tour, Hugh on tour — if he’s honest with himself. Didn’t drag himself out of bed until quite late. 

Now, today, Richard is back in London and Taron cannot _ wait _to see him. The text is a bit surprising then.

**10.05am: We still on for today, love?**

It’s the day after Richard’s birthday and the only reason Taron didn’t see him yesterday was because of family — he thought — but now he’s reading all sorts of things into six short words. Does Richard want a reason to cancel? Is Richard anxious about seeing him? Is Richard anxious that Taron will cancel and trying to pre-empt?

He wishes he knew how to be a normal human being and not the awkward kid who used to [ paint Lord of the Rings figurines](https://fyeahegerton.tumblr.com/post/158233587485/taron-egerton-is-a-massive-dweeb-the-masterpost). He knows in his heart of hearts, though, that if he’s a [ 14-year-old anxious dork](https://attitude.co.uk/article/read-rocketman-star-taron-egertons-attitude-cover-feature-in-full/21034/) obsessed with hobbits and [ gelflings](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0G6Z5FFCcB/) deep down, Richard is an anxious overweight theatre kid with equally shite social skills, and it’s one of the reasons they get on so well. Whatever is going on, he’s not going to pass on his first opportunity to see Richard in person in more than two weeks. He replies as if he’s not concerned at all.

_ 10.08am: Course, dickhead. Got a present for you. _

**10.09am: 😮 everyone is spoiling me**

**10:09am: See you soon!**

When Richard knocks on the door to his flat 50 minutes later, Taron’s still a bit jittery. Silly to be nervous — _ it’s Richard, innit? _he reminds himself, and when the man wraps his arms around Taron and presses his lips to the top of Taron’s head, Taron can feel himself relax infinitesimally. He steps back and then leans up to kiss Richard hello properly.

“I’m making us pasta and salad for lunch. Is that okay?”

“God, T,” says Richard, “Anything you make will be fabulous, I’m sure.”

“Well, I hope so… drink?”

“I’m good for now.”

Taron waves him into the lounge room. “Sit, sit. I’ll just be a sec.” He ducks into the bedroom and comes back with a large wrapped rectangle which he plonks onto Richard’s lap. “Happy birthday, love. It’s a bit… well, you’ll see.”

Richard grins up at him and rips the paper off. It’s an absolutely _ enormous _ Lego set — in particular, [ the T-Rex from Jurassic Park](https://www.lego.com/en-gb/product/jurassic-park-t-rex-rampage-75936) — and it’s part of a long-running gag about tiny hands. Taron’s suddenly anxious about it but Richard looks suitably impressed and is turning the box over to look at the back.

“You like it, then?”

“It’s brilliant, love. Lookit her midget boxer hands…”

Laughing with Richard again feels good, a little grounding. 

“So, what did Brandon get you, then?”

“Ah,” says Richard. “About that…” 

Taron’s heart sinks. “What, Dickie?”

“I’m devastated about this but... I can’t do Glasto.”

There’s a moment where Taron thinks he’s misheard and then it feels like his head is swirling, all that nebulous anxiety suddenly sharp. 

“Are you kidding me right now? We’ve been talking about this for months.” Taron’s trying hard not to lose it, but this is ridiculous. They literally only talked about this a few days ago.

“I know, love. You know [ it’s my favourite thing](https://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2019/may/04/richard-madden-bodyguard-rocketman-bullies-inner-fat-lad-miranda-sawyer). You know I wouldn’t be doing this if I could swing it.”

“I do know that. I’ve seen [ how much you love it](https://www.joe.ie/movies-tv/nobody-enjoyed-glastonbury-more-than-the-game-of-thrones-cast-593131). What’s more important, Dickie?” Taron is suddenly aware that he’s pacing, looming, and he sits down on the other end of the couch.

“It’s not that it’s more important, T,” Richard starts, sitting up and forward, leaning on his knees earnestly, like he thinks it’ll make a difference.

“What, Dickie? You know how vital it is to me that people keep their word, Dickie.” Taron’s voice is starting to sound tight, strained. “I told you I didn’t want to date my fucking father. Don’t bloody do this to me.”

Richard’s answer catches in his throat. He’s silent, for a beat too long.

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually, quietly.

Taron is quiet too, on the other end of the sofa — he might as well be on the other side of the world. “Where will you be?” he says, at last, flat.

“Italy again, with Brandon. Puglia. He organised a trip as a birthday present. And the timing is awful and unmovable.” Taron can see a flash of shame twist across Richard’s face, hot anxiety. Taron says nothing. “I’m so sorry, T. I wasn’t paying attention. I just assumed Brandon had heard all the conversations about Glastonbury, that he knew you were coming and Alex and everyone. But I never got around to giving him the detail. I thought I had time still. It’s ridiculous — going back to Italy ten days after we left.” He’s babbling now. He stops, short. “It’s all booked.”

There’s silence. Taron knows it’s his turn to talk, but he’s completely blank, empty, his chest tight. “I don’t know what to say, Richard.”

“I’m so sorry, T.” Richard wrings one hand into his pants, coiling the fabric tight, grip whitening his fingers. “I swear to you, it wasn’t deliberate.”

Taron grunts, hurt still, disbelieving. He’s that close to saying, _ I can’t talk about this right now _ and _ please leave _ but it would be a chasm he wouldn’t know how to bridge.

“I love you, Taron,” Richard says, as if that’s magically going to solve things. Taron inhales, tries to blink away the tears.

“I love you too,” says Taron, like it’s an inescapable fact. 

“Come with us,” says Richard, in a rush. “Come to Italy.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Richard. I was already squeezing in Glastonbury before ComicCon. I’ve booked a _ helicopter. _ And what about Michael and Vas?” Richard is grasping at straws — surely he knows that? 

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” 

“No,” says Taron, slowly. “No, I’m going to go to Glastonbury still. It’ll be okay.”

“We’ll go together next year, T. I pr…”

“Don’t promise,” says Taron, swiftly. “Just… We’ll try. I’d like that. We’ll go together one day.”

“One day,” says Richard. “Are we okay, love?”

“We will be. Just… This is the second time, hon. Your schedule is clearly _ hectic _ right now and you’re not keeping track, and I get it. But I need to be able to rely on you. You can’t flake on me like this. You need to make sure Brandon knows what we’re planning.”

“Message received, loud and clear.” Richard frowns. “If I asked my publicist to share my calendar with you, would that be weird? If we all had each other’s calendars?”

“It might be, if you don’t explain why — but thank you, that’s a lovely gesture.” Taron makes a sound that’s half-laugh, half-sniffle, and Richard takes an audible breath. “More than anything else in this conversation, that tells me you really are just a spoiled, forgetful dork. Would you really do that?”

“In a heartbeat, love,” promises Richard. “Look, I’ll do it right now.” He sends a quick email to his publicist, and shows it to Taron: he’s asked her to share his calendar with Taron Egerton, please, no explanation, here’s his email address if you need to sort anything out. It’s a start.

The air between them is still a little more stilted than usual, the peace they’ve brokered fragile. 

Taron suddenly misses the easy intimacy of the set, before things got complicated.

He reaches for papers and the bowl of leaf on the table and rolls a quick joint. “Smoke?”

“Smashing idea,” says Richard, sounding relieved. Taron lights the blunt, inhales and passes it to Richard. Richard draws in the smoke, and holds it, says, tight, “You’re very far away, darling.” So Taron goes to sit next to Richard on the couch, lets himself be drawn into the embrace and takes the joint back. He can feel the high start to take hold, that slightly expansive, floaty sensation and he strokes his fingers up Richard’s cloth-clad thigh.

“[The Variety article](https://variety.com/2019/biz/features/lgbt-inclusion-hollywood-entertainment-industry-1203246534/) was a bit awkward…” says Richard, apropos of nothing. “Did you see it yet?”

“You mean the way it has Brandon up top as an out gay actor and then seems to make a special effort to sledge me?” says Taron, a little bitterly. “And that they attributed the success of our movie to the soundtrack?”

“Er, yeah, that,” says Richard. “Are you okay, love?”

Taron shakes his head, but more a brushing off than an honest answer. He stands up. “Come talk with me while I cook?”

The _ Troubador _ sign is still on the wall, glowing blue against the white as Richard sets himself up on a bar stool. “Suggesting you steal that was one of the best ideas I ever had,” he says, waving a hand at it.

“You are not wrong there,” says Taron. “I fucking love it.”

***

After lunch, Taron rolls another joint. As he smokes it, he feels both cushioned from and more connected to reality, in a good way. 

It suddenly occurs to Taron’s that almost every other time they’ve been alone for more than two seconds in the past three months, they’ve ripped each other’s clothes off. Maybe the way to get over this awkwardness is to just go for it. That’s what regular people with regular sex drives do, isn’t it? He likes touch. Touch settles him. This is just more intimate touch. 

He gets a pair of beers from the fridge and on his way back, practically drapes himself over Richard, sort of falling back into the man’s lap and laughing up at those incredibly blue eyes of his.

“God, you’re gorgeous, Dickie. How in hell’s name did I ever snag such a stunning man as you?” He kisses Richard, deep and intense, and Richard parts his lips, lets his tongue in, grips him tightly, fingers digging into Taron’s waist in _ such _a nice way. Taron grinds his hips down onto Richard’s groin, enjoys the little gasp he gets from Richard, tries to ignore the fact that it’s not doing much for him yet.

“You sure about this, love?” asks Richard, sounding dubious, and Taron’s heart plummets a little. He wants to be good for Richard. That’s how this works, right? He’s good, and he makes Richard feel good, and then it will all be okay again. 

“Yeah, course.” He wriggles again a little, kisses Richard’s neck. “Want me to blow you? You know how much we both like my mouth on you…”

Richard groans, shifts under Taron. “Good lord, you know I can’t resist an offer like that…” 

Taron clambers down to his knees (_where he belongs_, a traitorous voice whispers in his head) and spreads Richard’s knees, unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his pants, reaches in and lifts his semi-hard cock out of his boxer briefs. Taron just looks for a moment, steeling himself — he knows how to do this, what does it matter whether he’s feeling a little off? It’s Richard’s birthday, or may as well be, and he deserves to feel amazing and not be bothered by silly rubbish. 

Then he leans forward and slurps the head of Richard’s cock into his mouth, swirls his tongue around it, pulls back, licks up the shaft and then returns to swallow the whole length down as it stiffens in his mouth. _ See? _ he tells himself, _ Easy. Simple mechanics. _

Richard’s hands go into Taron’s hair, and he takes a long, slow breath. “Ohhhh, Taron,” he murmurs. “You’re so fucking incredible, my _ god_.” And it feels good, to hear that, but it doesn’t feel true, and Taron wants it to be true, wants to be _ worthy _ of it, so he redoubles his efforts, sinking down deep, choking himself a little, and then Richard is saying, “Hey, babe, slow down, take it easy,” and fuck, he can’t even get _ this _right. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Got a bit carried away!” And he tries for a grin, with his messy mouth — isn’t sure whether he succeeds. “I never thought the choking looked particularly hot in porno either…” He shrugs. 

Richard strokes his cheek, soft. “Yeah, you definitely do not need to hurt yourself for me to have fun.”

Taron ducks his head, goes back to licking and sucking, gets into the dreamy rhythm made even better by the weed, manages to shut his brain up for a little until Richard is pulling at him and saying, “Close, close…” and then when he pulls off to say, _ it’s okay, come in my mouth_, Richard beats him to it, breathless, rushed, and says, “I’ve so missed being inside you, love. Want to come in you. Is that okay?”

For a moment, Taron’s brain grinds to a halt but he can do this too, right, even if he’s not that into it right now? That’s what lube is for. And it’s _ simple mechanics _ like he said, it’ll feel good once it’s started? And it’s _ Richard _ and it’s his _ birthday. _

So he hums in a way he hopes sounds enthusiastic, gets up, takes a swig of his beer, takes Richard’s hand and leads him into his bedroom, snagging lube from the top drawer of his dresser on the way. He lies down on the bed and pulls Richard down with him, kisses him, a little urgent, a little hungry, wondering if he can trick his body into getting into it if he puts on a bit of a show. Richard pushes him onto his back, pushes both his arms above his head and holds him down by his wrists, and _ yeah_, he’s here for that, that’s _ good_. Then Richard says, “Hold your hands there for me, don’t move, okay? I’m going to make you feel so good…” and he lets go, and that’s not what Taron wants _ at all_. Richard is kissing down Taron’s neck and undressing him slowly, and kissing every bit of skin as it’s revealed, unwrapping him like Taron is the present, and it’s suddenly too much, and Richard is going to discover any minute now that Taron is soft, and Taron just can’t… the tears start to form and spill over, silently, and he feels completely overwhelmed and like there’s nothing he can do to stop this and then he remembers, and he whispers, ever-so-tentative, “_Kingsman”. _

And Richard freezes. Then a split-second later, he takes both hands off Taron, very deliberately, holds them up like he’s under arrest. Shifts back. 

“Kingsman,” says Taron, again, a little louder, choked with it. 

“I heard you, love.” He sounds completely bewildered and Taron doesn’t know where to begin. “You’re safe. What do you need? Stop all together? Something different?”

“I don’t know…” says Taron, uneasy. Richard sits up, puts his back against the headboard, legs outstretched. 

“Can I… Can I hold your hand, love?”

Taron reaches out blindly with it and grips tight when Richard slides their fingers together. 

“I thought…” Taron begins, trying to work out how to put into words his ridiculous sense that he’s just a distraction to Richard, that he’s too much trouble, that he’s being cast aside. Knowing he’s being melodramatic. Knowing how needy and, _ ugh_, _ pathetic _he sounds. But feeling those cancelled plans as abandonment just the same. “I thought you’d leave…if I didn’t…”

“What the fuck, T?”

“I don’t want to… when we’re… it’s not like…”

“Shhh, sweetheart,” Richard says, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the back of Taron’s hand. “Do you honestly think you need to have sex with me to keep me? Jesus. Taron.” He sounds a little irritated, and Taron shrinks in on himself a bit. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, quiet. 

“What? Jesus, no…” Richard takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again his tone is so much softer. “You’ve nothing to apologise for. I love you.”

“Hold me?”

“Of course.” Richard pulls Taron in and Taron curls up on Richard’s chest, embarrassed about his wet cheeks, about sniffling into Richard’s pec. Richard runs soothing fingers down Taron’s back. “Thank you.”

“What on earth for?” asks Taron. 

“For stopping me when you needed to. For taking care of yourself. For not letting that get to a point neither of us would have been able to recover from.”

And Taron thinks about that, about _ enduring _ something that is supposed to be an expression of their love, about what he was about to make Richard do, and how Richard would have felt knowing he’d done that; he feels a fresh wave of shame and guilt. _ Fuck_. 

“I didn’t think…” 

Richard interrupts him. “Love. Love, I’m trying to tell you that you did good. Maybe now’s not the time to talk, huh? I’ll just… I’m going to get you some water, okay? I’ll be back in two seconds.”

Taron hears Richard moving around, and a quiet ding, presumably from his phone, and then he’s back and Taron drinks the water, and snuggles back in, and dozes, exhausted, until Richard has to go. They were supposed to all have dinner together but Taron isn’t ready to face the world just yet. 

Richard assures him over and over that he loves him, says he’ll check in and that they’ll talk properly later, and then, searching Taron’s face — Taron smiles reassuringly, murmurs that he’s fine now, that everything’s okay, that he mustn’t worry — Richard nods and gently kisses him goodbye. 

Taron closes the door reluctantly after him, and faces his flat alone again. _ Well done_, he thinks to himself. _ He’ll definitely want to spend more time with you now. Berk. _He takes the bracelet off, feeling like he doesn’t deserve to wear it, and knowing at the same time how ridiculous that is. He gets back into bed, curls up, and falls into restless sleep. 

***

He heads to Aberwystyth, because that’s home and his tribe of friends for life and he doesn’t want to be alone.

It’s summer solstice and there’s something about being on the beach in his favourite place in the world, with two of his best mates as the sun is setting that settles him. The last few days, since _ that _ conversation with Richard, he’s felt weirdly disconnected. It had taken a day to put the bracelet back on. Of course, he’s spoken to him between then and now — their regular check-ins are now routine, but where he’d felt such certainty before is now a seed of doubt.

Craig’s known him long enough to call him on it — hell, he can’t even muster a full smile for [ the happy snap Jack takes of them](https://www.instagram.com/p/By_RAuTFAqb/) — and he shares his fears with them, tells them about Glastonbury and even half-confesses what happened in London. Under the sympathetic ear, Taron can tell Jack’s angry with Richard on his behalf and Taron’s quick to come to Richard’s defense, talking about how the man’s working on being more reliable, that he did everything right in London. Nevertheless, when he’s honest with himself, Taron can’t help but feel like he’s a little lost. 

Richard said to call him if he felt this way — but that was before Richard was the _ cause _of his feeling this way. 

He makes an effort, then, to go back to the[ interview with Brandon](https://variety.com/2019/tv/features/brandon-flynn-coming-out-lgbtq-hollywood-double-standards-1203246892/) — Variety published the full version that day after the Pride piece — and it’s just everything they’ve been talking about, right there in black and white. He reads it alone in his bed, late at night and it’s all there: the double standards and the being fine with everyone knowing that he dates men because that’s just who he _ is_, but at the same time being frustrated at the whole coming out circus and the demand that he carries the weight of being a gay rolemodel. The interviewer stops short of asking whether Brandon is dating Richard — for a change — but still asks it indirectly by not-so-discreetly mentioning reading headlines about his life. Brandon’s answer — that he feels like everyone is waiting for them to fail — feels so raw to Taron in that moment that he has to stop reading and blink away the tears. There’s a reason he keeps saying that one of the most emotional scenes for him to film was Elton coming out to Bernie — even if it was all subconscious for Taron at the time.

Whatever else is going on, he realises that he doesn’t want Brandon and Richard’s relationship to fail. That’s not the solution. He’s not some terrible cliché of the mistress having an affair with a married man and waiting for the man to leave his wife, hanging on for years, believing it will happen any day now. That was never the deal, and he wouldn’t have put up with it if it was.

Would it have been easier if he’d made a move on Richard before he’d met Brandon or if Brandon didn’t exist at all? Maybe. But that’s not what happened, is it? Richard met Brandon, and they fell in love. Brandon makes Richard happy. And if, for whatever reason, Brandon left — alternatives don’t bear thinking about — Richard would be devastated. 

He scrubs at his tired eyes with both fists, and goes back to the article, but he can’t concentrate. In the end, he’s so exhausted that he has to put the thing down altogether.

He texts Brandon — it’s late, but he’s pretty sure they’re still in London, so maybe not _ too _ late.

10.43pm: _ Read your incredible Variety interview, mate. Sums up everything I’ve been thinking. For the record, I want you & Dickie to succeed and I am happy for you. _

**10.45pm: Cannot tell you how much that means to me coming from you.**

**10.45pm: I’m really glad you’re in our lives. **

**10.46pm: Same back to you. You know that, right? **

Taron thinks of and discards 15 different responses to that, ranging from_ Yeah, course. Just really exhausted right now, don’t mind me _ to _ Then why are you going to Italy on holidays without me? _ to _ Appreciate that so much. Is he okay? _and finally settles on something noncommittal.

10.50pm: _ I do. Thanks. Sleep now. Night. _

He is _ so _screwed.

***

The next day, though, he manages to put that all aside. Honestly, the talk with Jack and Craig actually helped, and he’s always been bloody good at compartmentalising. [ A picnic on the beach with his mam and his mates and all their babbies](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzBcy0cFrvS/) (they keep growing every time he turns his back) is no place for sorrows and he puts his troubles out of his mind.

They talk about Bleddyn’s cousin’s new job and about [ the woman from down the road who was arrested for stabbing a giant inflatable Trump baby](https://www.walesonline.co.uk/news/wales-news/trump-baby-balloon-burst-stabbed-16381790), and of course that leads to a whole discussion about Brexit, and the shambles that is UK politics, and the education system, and of course how well young Nia’s girl is doing at high school — won the science award and everything! 

He builds a sandcastle with his sisters, and watches the water and lets it soothe his soul.

By the end of the day, he genuinely does feel the love, combined with a weird _ hiraeth _ that really has no business being there because he’s already home. He posts a photo of the whole crowd with him in the middle to Instagram, wanting to share the joy. He captions it, soppy as all get out, “The joyous feeling of knowing you are exactly where you are meant to be. Family, friends and the most beautiful place in the world. Lucky doesn’t begin to describe how I feel. #aberforever”. Brandon likes it, but not Richard, which would be a tiny bit odd if Richard wasn’t just generally useless with Instagram. Jack comments “Ain’t no party like a J Sync party” and the whole Sinclair family is probably reading this too so he just responds with an all-teeth grin emoji.

He’s still exhausted and he knows he’s still burned out, but he’s doing better. He thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers: the problematic section between "After lunch, Taron rolls another joint." to "Richard assures him over and over that he loves him" relates to a demisexual person initiating sex they don't want and their poor internal self-talk that makes them think they can just push through it. They end up performing one sexual act they don't mind and then safewording before they engage in another sexual act they really don't want to do. Their safeword is respected and they have a loving conversation with their partner afterwards, but not everything is resolved.
> 
> If, when you've finished reading this chapter, you need to talk, come talk with me on tumblr. If reading this chapter makes you realise you might have had unwanted sex and you've never thought about it like that, call a local sexual assault hotline — they won't care how long ago the incident happened; if they're not set up for non-crisis counselling, they'll be able to refer you somewhere.


	11. if only i could nestle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard reflects on his relationships; Richard makes a big effort to do adult scheduling; Richard packs Brandon in his bags again; Brandon and Richard go to Italy; everyone else goes to Glastonbury; Richard misses them, a lot; Puglia is utterly stunning, incredible, magnificent, just WOW; Richard buys Taron a gift; Brandon really is a shameless tease.
> 
> A journey through the mental state of one impossible Scotsman and the unbelievable landscape of the southern Italian coast, from Richard's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your generosity in your comments last week. 
> 
> This week, it's enormous thanks to [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus) for a mammoth solo beta effort, for giving me phrases in Italian for shopkeepers to say, for giving Richard a moment of joy on landing in Rome instead of dull timeline wrangling, for her hilarious 'goddamned boot-shaped country' and honestly for being so angry with Richard about not turning up in Antibes that it spawned the entire trope of him being terrible at scheduling in this fic. If you click on the link to 'the EJAF event', it will take you to the quite over-the-top and fabulous fic she wrote at the time. 
> 
> And honestly, although I'm still a little annoyed that Richard and Brandon went to Italy instead of to Glastonbury with Taron, I'd also like to thank them for it — wow, Puglia is _stunning_ and I never would have seen any of it if it weren't for them.

“Really? Good grief.”

“What, honey?” asks Brandon. 

“My publicist is on my tail because I haven’t posted anything from Milan to Instagram yet. I wish I’d never gotten on the stupid thing.”

“Post one of those lovely ones of you and Roberta. Here, I’ll do it.” Brandon grabs Richard’s phone, opens Instagram, finds the photo he wants and [ posts it](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzFshvwFZKz/) — minimal text required to satisfy the sponsor — then goes back to his own phone and likes Richard’s post. “There. Was that so hard, old man?” He’s laughing and dances away when Richard mock-attacks him.

“Listen here, ye young whippersnapper…” And he manages to tackle him and then they’re rolling the floor, wrestling and breathless. Brandon leans up and kisses Richard, and while he’s distracted, flips him. “Cheater!” says Richard, outraged, and kisses him again as payback.

It’s been close to a week since that day at Taron’s and Richard’s told Brandon that Taron was really upset about the trip but not much else. It’s pretty intimate, what happened after that, and it’s a universal truth by now that Richard is uncomfortable talking about his relationships. He’s _ really _ not kidding about that. He’s 100% open to talking honestly and frankly with the people he’s _ in _ a relationship with but talking _ about _ them to literally anyone else? No thanks; that is _ private_. 

Richard understands that not everyone has his high libido, and he totally understands not being in the mood after an argument. He’s a bit worried that Taron didn’t feel like he could just voice that to start with — thank goodness he got there in the end — and that’s _ his _ personal stuff and not to be shared either.

So Brandon knows that Taron is going to Glastonbury with Michael and Vas and Alex, while he and Richard go to Puglia. Brandon also knows that Taron is currently in Aberystwyth, rather than in London with them, and Richard is letting Brandon assume that the relative lack of contact is more because Taron is surrounded by family than because there’s anything wrong _ per se_. 

So Richard is very bloody relieved when he finally gets his phone back and scrolls through Instagram and sees [ the post on the beach](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzBcy0cFrvS/), but he always feels weird liking things so long after they’re posted — like it’s super obvious he was stalking the person’s account rather than just using the site — so he doesn’t like it or comment, he just looks at it. And then he texts Taron, simple day-to-day stuff as always recently, checking in, connecting — what are you having for dinner, how are Mari and Rosie today, photos of his brunch, and he gets back the same, cute drawings by the girls, tales of Tom and Bleddyn and Craig taking the piss, but in the kindest possible way, photos of sunrise at the beach some days.

He’s been hesitant to bring anything sexual up, a far cry from where they were a scant few weeks ago. He figures that’s for Taron to start up again, when he’s ready. Richard needs Taron to know _ this _ — whatever it is they have — isn’t just sex to him. Despite the original agreement to just be friends with benefits, it’s always been more than that for Richard. He did say it, in Cannes, pretty soon after they got together, but in the rush of it all, the strength of his attraction to the man, his all-consuming desire for Taron that sometimes overwhelms any logic he has, maybe he’d forgotten to make that clear since, that he loves Taron as a person, that he absolutely adores the gentle, kind, considerate, generous, vulnerable man that he is, as a lover, as a friend, as a colleague — god, that this tired, quotidian phrase ‘I love you’ isn’t rote or currency or habit, that when Richard says it to Taron, it’s utterly real, every time.

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? That in the end, Richard feels everything so goddamn deeply that trying to put it into words to someone else? It feels like flaying himself — so exposed, so raw, so fragile.

In the middle of his musing, Taron texts back a photo of what he’s cooking for the family, and the spell is broken. When Richard looks up from his phone, Brandon’s wandered off, and he finds him in the bedroom, still on his phone too, asks what he wants for dinner and orders in.

***

The next day, Richard makes a big effort to make sure everyone who matters in his life knows what’s coming up. He doesn’t want to rub salt in any wounds, but he doesn’t want there to be any more misunderstandings, either — the shared calendar is one thing but this is active engagement. He still feels like a little bit of a coward, though, because his version of this _ big effort _is his publicist sending him, Brandon and Taron their personal and professional itineraries from now until the end of July.

Taron texts him back almost immediately, ‘you owe your publicist flowers for making her do that’, but professionally he just replies to everyone in the email chain with ‘Thanks for that. If you want to add mine in to line things up, ACE this Sunday in Seattle, SDCC same time as R for Dark Crystal and surprised not to see [ EJAF event on Jul 25](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20073568) in here? R not going? Let me know if you want my media & other commitments as well, happy to supply.” A second, slightly snarky text to Richard follows, “Portugal too? And then do we have to call you Dr Madden after the 5th, then?”

All in all, that went better than he’d hoped.

Far too soon, he and Brandon have to pack again — although that’s becoming somewhat of a smooth routine. This time, as per the itinerary just sent, they’ll be going Italy to Scotland to Portugal and back to London again, before finally going home. There are days when Richard thinks back to not being sure where the next rent money was coming from, or to the excruciating days of physical rehab after he hurt his ankle, or to his early teens when he thought he’d never get to have sex, let alone _ love_, and he simply can’t believe his luck. He knows full well it’s _ luck_, not talent, that got him here, and that there are many other equally talented people in the world who don’t get the same breaks he’s had. And he’s going to damn well enjoy it while it’s here.

With a little time to kill while they wait for the car, and because they’re not technically on holidays _ yet_, Richard checks his email, and reads a few scripts, and Brandon lounges on the couch opposite him, reading, and it’s domestic, and when Brandon looks up and catches him looking, he smiles and says, “What?” like he doesn’t know what a big softie he is.

***

At Heathrow again, it’s the first time Richard has to really face that he’s going to Italy rather than Glastonbury. He really does love Brandon, and this really is an amazing gift, but he also really does love Glasto, and he really was looking forward to it. While they wait to board, they both scroll through Instagram. Brandon laughs and shows Richard a post [ Richard’s dad made](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzIakiiJyWo/) — someone’s massive truck covered from bumper to tail-lights in Johnny Cash. Richard likes a bunch of Pride posts and scrolls through the Glastonbury tag, watching people arrive and set up, and missing it all fiercely. Gemma and Douglas text him wondering when he’s arriving — and that’s more bloody people he has to let down. [ Douglas is already there](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzL0ka8FvJB/?igshid=1ffv5gg138t9u). Richard likes the post anyhow and so does Gemma.

Brandon looks over at his screen at one point, and goes to take his hand before remembering that a first class lounge still counts as public. Richard looks up at him. “It’s okay, love. It’ll be on again next year. I want to be with you.” And Brandon smiles at him.

He texts Taron that he’s turning on flight mode and Taron texts back, “have a good time”, which is a good sign, right?

It takes them just over two hours to get to Rome. As soon as they exit the plane and Richard can feel the warm Italian sun kiss his skin — he can almost smell the sea breeze coming from Ostia beach — he's already a hundred times happier about agreeing to go back to Italy. Brandon is fanning himself with a magazine and Richard half-thinks about suggesting they go find a gelato somewhere and spend the afternoon swimming. Their journey is not over yet, though: they’ve got a short stopover, then another flight to Salento, and then they still need to drive from there to Lecce. Getting right down to the bottom of the heel of this goddamned boot-shaped country sure is a trek and a half. 

It takes the better part of the day, so when they get there they flop into their resort suite, absolutely gawp at the sunset and the ocean and each other while they wait for their food to be sent up and go to sleep.

The town is like nothing he’s ever seen before, ancient on the outside and modern on the inside. As far as the eye can see is sandstone, pillars and [ baroque ](https://www.instagram.com/p/B3S0-exIWiZ/) curlicues, balustrades and courtyards and then on the horizon, it’s all white houses rising up the hill. The temperature is warm again — Europe has been just gorgeously sunny every day, this year. They head down to central Lecce for a lazy brunch and [ wander around the university town](https://www.neverendingvoyage.com/lecce-italy-travel-guide/). It’s honestly just _ incredible_.

After brunch, it’s time for [Torre Sant’Andrea](https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/torre-santandrea) — it’s just half an hour away from Lecce and it’s the most magnificent, beautiful, awe-inspiring — he runs out of adjectives thirty seconds after they get there. The water is the clearest he’s ever seen — the clearest turquoise water fading to the most delicate aquamarine. The rock formations are as white as the cliffs of Dover but, rather than just one wall, there are protrusions and columns and layers and the water is the perfect temperature and the sky is cerulean. He lies on his back and floats, weightless, heart-full and completely at peace. They swim a little further out to a natural archway across the water and underneath it, for a moment, it’s just the two of them, and he wishes he could stay there forever.

Back in town, Brandon decides to go back to their room for a nap, but Richard isn’t done for the day. He takes a long walk through the town and looks through the various shops, trying to find the less touristy ones.

In one, a saleswoman tries to interest him in an ugly papier-mâché figurine. “Dai, for your girlfriend, yes? È bella, come la tua ragazza! So pretty, just like her, yes?” 

In [ La Pietra Prende Forma](http://www.lapietraprendeforma.com/mi/), he’s stunned by the curves of the art, but none of it is what he’s looking for.

He’s very tempted by the _ pumo portafortuna _ in [ Re di Quadri](https://rediquadri.business.site/) — more because of its meaning (it’s a traditional Apulian artisanal artefact, apparently, and symbolises something coming to new life, traditionally offered as a good luck charm at the beginning of something) than its looks — they look like a very uncomfortable butt plug, if he’s really honest. He baulks once he realises it’s supposed to be a fertility thing too, and demurs, which just results in the shopkeeper muttering something to his wife about _ ‘sti turisti tirchi_.

In the fifth store he enters and says, “I’m looking for a gift for my friend…” he _ finally _gets a man who sizes him up and seems to understand what he means by that. 

“And this friend,” says the guy. “You love them?”

Richard has never appreciated the ability of English to make pronouns gender-neutral more in his life.

“Yes,” he says. “Very much.”

“Here.” The guy shows him to a display of small ceramics. “We make everything to order, but also, you can buy these if there is something you like.”

Richard picks up a [ blue square with a lighthouse on it](https://www.artefattolab.it/prodotto/b_15x15_0031/). “What does this one say? The Shakespeare quote?” He recognises the word ‘love’ and the word ‘tempest’ at least. “Is it from _ The Tempest_?” he asks.

“No, it is a poem. It says that love is a beacon and the storm will not shake it. You know it?”

Richard smiles. “Aye, I believe I do. ‘It is an ever-fixèd mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.’ It’s perfect.” Does the _ commesso _ know that this was a sonnet written by a man for another man? Will Taron recognise it for what it is? Whatever else, it will hopefully convey to him Richard’s rock-solid conviction that their love can weather anything, their ‘marriage of true minds’. It’s perfect. “I’ll take it,” he says, and the man smiles at him, and says, “I’m sure your friend will appreciate it very much,” and yeah, he definitely knows. Good on him.

***

When he returns to their room, Brandon’s lithe body is stretched out across the bed, completely starkers, and the Mediterranean sunlight is turning him into some alabaster artist’s model — the only anomaly being the stark black ink across his arms and snaking under the side of his torso. He takes Richard’s breath away, lounging there, leaning back on one elbow looking at him with hooded eyes. And then, completely shameless, he reaches down and strokes his long, svelte cock, and licks his lips. 

“Well,” says Richard, “This is definitely a gorgeous view to be coming back to. Am I to be observing only, or is this a participant’s game?”

“Oh, you can absolutely touch, stunner. Get over here…”

Richard peels his T-shirt off over his head and shoves his trousers down, climbs onto the bed next to Brandon and claims his mouth in a searing kiss, hand round the back of his neck. Brandon arches into it a little, which pushes his cock up further, and Richard grins, starts kissing down Brandon’s neck, his clavicle, licks over nipples and stays there a while, enjoying Brandon’s moans and the wet slap of his lubed hand on himself, sucks Brandon’s left nipple entirely into his mouth and compresses it slightly between tongue and his top teeth, puts a hand on Brandon’s hip to hold him steady when he pushes up into it. Richard leaves that nipple and goes to pay attention to the other and Brandon’s free hand goes up and into Richard’s hair, holding him tight against his chest. Richard sucks this nipple too, smiles when Brandon groans out loud. He lets go and moves down, nipping at Brandon’s smooth, taut flanks and then pushing his hand out of the way so that Richard can sink his mouth down onto him, lick under the exposed helmet of his cut cock, down the underside and back up, swallowing him down, sloppy and loose, and Brandon scratches his nails up and down Richard’s back, urging him on and then he says, “_Honey… _” and Richard goes deep and hollows out his cheeks and sucks hard the way Brandon likes it when he’s close, and swallows every precious drop.

“Mmmm,” murmurs Brandon. “Definitely the right call waiting for you…”

Richard kisses his way back up to Brandon’s chest, his clavicle, his neck, nestles in, hard cock against the man’s hip. “Uh huh,” he replies, thrusting gently. “I absolutely agree…”

“Give me a minute, babe, and you can have my thighs if you like…”

Richard groans at the thought of that slippery soft skin against his sensitive shaft. “You can have as long as you need, my love. I’m in no hurry.” He undulates against Brandon again, enjoying the slow build, the laziness of this a cap to a peaceful day. Kisses the underside of Brandon’s chin, enjoying the faint stubble and the way his flush goes down his neck to the swell of his chest. Brandon runs his hand down Richard’s bicep, and back up. 

Richard traces [ Brandon’s tattoo, down his side, under his armpit](https://malecelebarmpits.tumblr.com/post/182647001651/brandon-flynn-2). Brandon squirms a little. “Tickles,” he says. 

“Uh huh,” says Richard and licks that spot instead, rutting again as he does. 

Brandon tangles his hand in Richard’s hair, pulls him gently up for a proper kiss. He plays with Richard’s nipples, and god, Richard is always weak for that, shivers running through him and straight to his balls. 

Brandon reaches back to grab the Shea butter again, waits for it to melt a little and reaches down between them to spread it between his legs. Richard is smiling down at him, half-hitched movements of his hips, pressing himself closer, anticipatory. When Brandon is done, Richard lifts himself up and over and Brandon reaches down to tuck Richard between his thighs, tightens his muscles and puts his hand on Richard’s lower back. “Go on, stunner,” rubbing slow circles, “I know how much you love this…”

Richard draws back and lets out a hum, long and low, enveloped in slippery warmth, smooth silken skin. He slides in again and it is like champagne tingling against his tongue, the lightness and almost-too-intense feeling. Brandon’s hands move up his back to his shoulders and down as he glides in and out of that downy slick space. He is braced on his forearms over Brandon, and he curls forward a little to kiss at Brandon’s neck, nip at the flesh just below his collarbones, breathless. 

His hips move of their own accord, rise and fall. All of his muscles work together effortlessly to piston his body, up, down, his cock slotting over and over into that greased path, his entire being made for this. Brandon is looking at him now, soft smile and crinkled eyes, strokes the damp curls off his forehead, murmurs encouragement to him, _ yes, love, that’s it _ and _ you’re so gorgeous _and Richard is wordless, open-mouthed, amazed, lost in sensation, until he arches and arches and adds to the wetness there, pushing back into his own damp warmth and coming hard, moaning Brandon’s name against his throat.

As the day draws to a close, after they’ve cleaned up and eaten, Brandon and Richard wind down and look at Instagram again. [ Gemma and Douglas are all set up](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzOOVQNlzaN/?igshid=1ru0cyjvoe9b5) and ready to party. This time, Brandon likes the post too. Taron should be arriving there tomorrow. Richard wonders whether he should send Taron a ‘have an amazing time!’ text, or just wait and hope that the man has such a mind-blowing experience that he’ll send him gleeful, glowing messages tomorrow, and that it will all be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem that Richard chooses for Taron is a little bit of 'cosmic tethering' to quote Jamie Bell — I genuinely was just googling local shops around Lecce trying to find a suitable gift, saw that ceramic piece, google translated the phrase and worked out which poem it was from... and it was a perfect fit for the story. Oh yeah, and thanks for whoever runs the tumblr called 'male celeb armpits' — like, is there nothing tumblr can't do?
> 
> And on that note, I hope that this second act, where we're starting to weave themes of _personal_ privacy/transparency in with our themes of _public_ privacy/transparency works as well as the first act.
> 
> Thank you for reading and for all your incredible comments. I'm so blessed to be part of this supportive and thoughtful community of people.


	12. when it rains the rain falls down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taron is determined to have a good time in Glastonbury; he makes a video from his private chopper; he hangs out with Alex Skarsgård and Michael Braun and Vas J Morgan, for goodness' sake — of course he's having fun; he's going to see Stormzy at the big stage; ah, who is he kidding? He's a mess. 
> 
> A very flat emotional journey through Glastonbury from Taron's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've known this chapter was coming since the beginning — watching Taron in the flat Insta story in the helicopter, I felt so sorry for him and wondered what on earth was going on for him. I had a long conversation with my beta reader Em about seven chapters ago, trying to work out what had got him into that state, which of course led to Chapter 10, and then when we realised that Alex Skarsgård was in Milan with Richard *and* at Glastonbury with Taron, working out what he might say to Taron...
> 
> This chapter is also an homage to [_(Do You Ever) Think About Me_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19431169) by [th_esaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/th_esaurus/pseuds/th_esaurus). Credit where credit is due: th_esaurus's story is incredible and perfect and I want to thank them for their gift to the fandom.  
More about that in the end notes.
> 
> As always, I want to thank [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus) for her beta work — tireless removal of stray 'and thens', tireless addition of commas before conjunctions, and this time the important information that people no longer punch numbers into phones to call people when they're upset — I mean, clearly I'm aware of that but for some reason I originally wrote it like Taron is someone's 80-year-old aunt. Also thanks to C for the Gaelic endearments. She just kept including them in her fics, and now they've crept into mine. :-) Anyhow, I literally couldn't do this without you, C — thank you for talking about Taron and Richard with me literally every day for something like the last three months.
> 
> On with the festival!

Technically, Glastonbury is ‘open’ from the Wednesday but that’s for the crowds to set up camp and settle in. When you’re flying in on a private helicopter and staying in a tipi set up by someone else, arriving Friday is just fine.

Taron’s determined to have a good time. So what if Richard and Brandon have skived off for a holiday in the south of bloody Italy? He’s meeting up with Richard’s friend Michael and his — friend? boyfriend? — Vas, and Alex Skarsgård and the rest of the crew, who have assured him he’s still welcome to join them.

While he’s waiting for the chopper to take off, [ he films himself for an Instagram story ](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzS1-TuFJgI/) — may as well share the crazy, right? He had good reactions the last time he shared a private jet post, with his “holy crap, what even is my life?” caption during the press tour, so he’s hoping this will go down just as well.

“So, uh. Just me,” he says. And then there’s another chopper take off ahead of him, so he tilts the camera to try and catch it, but it’s too fast.

He turns the camera back onto himself. “My own private chopper. It’s orange. I always demand it’s orange. When I fly by chopper. Erm. I always ’ave done. It’s just a quirk. It’s part of my… it’s in my contract. So yeah.” He smacks his lips. “Yep.” He smiles at the camera, or tries to. Has no idea what else to say and turns it off, posts the video.

He’s completely surprised when his phone rings about two seconds later, and it’s Richard.

“What the actual fuck was that, T?” he says, no preliminaries.

“Well, hello, Richard. What are you on about then?”

“That video, T. Are you okay?” asks Richard, worry clear in his voice.

“I’m fine, love. I’m in a chopper on my way to Glastonbury,” says Taron, like it’s patently obvious, especially since he's just seen the video.

“T. Taron. Stop lying to me, my darling. Stop lying to yourself.”

“What?” he says, confused, exhausted.

“You are clearly _ not _ fine. Can you even hear yourself, love? I’m really worried about you.”

“You don’t have the right to do this, Richard.” Now there’s an edge creeping in.

“Do what, Taron? Care about you?” 

_ Excuse me? _That hurts.

“You’re the one who left. You’re the one who’s in Italy with Brandon. You’re the reason I’m here on my own. Don’t you dare judge me on this.” Taron swipes at a tear, determined that the pilot isn’t going to see this, getting his voice back under control.

“Oh, _ mo chridhe_, that’s not…”

“I need you here, Richard, and you’re not here. I’m doing my best. I’m doing my absolute best.”

The pilot signals to him — they’re ready to take off. “I have to go,” he tells Richard. “I’ll call you from the farm.” He hangs up, gives the pilot a thumbs up, and leans his head against the window as they bank sharply.

It’s been a non-stop carousel of intensity starting with the post-Oscars party to the Met Gala to Cannes to the press tour and the premieres to the O2 to Brighton with Elton, and that’s not even starting on the whirlwind of that first kiss with Richard to the overwhelmingly fast, addictive power dynamic they’ve had going, the way he’s been craving Richard’s touch. 

Suddenly, he realises that’s not just a metaphor. He’s _ crashing_. This is just... not healthy. Maybe Richard’s right. Maybe he’s really not okay.

When they land — it’s not exactly a long flight — he’s met by Michael and Alex and they wait for Vas’s chopper to land. Vas and Michael hug for a long time — a deep, real connection and Taron misses Richard fiercely again, for the hundredth time in the last hour.

Taron would be a little awkward even if he wasn’t having an emotional crisis — Richard is the one who hung out with Michael and Alex at the post-party of the US Rocketman premiere and arranged this little posse, and Vas is Michael’s friend. He shakes his hand warmly though — he knows him from TOWIE, of course, and from that [ frankly incredible raw moment talking about his sexuality ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oweGNasl-Sg) to a million Britons.

“Vas, mate. So pleased to meet you.” The public face is back on and Taron is nothing if not a consummate actor.

“And you,” says Vas. “Loved _ Rocketman_. What can I say? Fantastic tribute to the Big Man.”

“Got to tell, you, man, you are _ rocking _ that purple hair.”

Michael insists on [ a photo of them all next to Vas’s helicopter ](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzXlu8KnUrF/) and the pilot is happy to help out. Alex hams it up — he’s so much taller than the rest of them it’s honestly the only way they were going to get him into the pic.

They head to their tipis to unpack. He checks his phone for the first time since he landed and he’s got a message from Elton, a couple from Richard. He’ll answer them later. 

It’s a little weird being here. The last time he was in a tipi at Glastonbury it was to film a [ controversial scene placing a tracker in a controversial place](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4E8LEsDhos). He had fun with Poppy and Pedro here, but they didn’t get a lot of time to just cut loose. This time, though, there’s no half-naked woman in his tent, and sadly no half-naked man either, so he pulls himself together and they [ head straight out to one of the VIP bars](https://twitter.com/VasJMorgan/status/1144997024066154496).

“You must be looking forward to this weekend, Taron,” says Michael. “What a trip you’ve been on! Bit of time away from the girlfriend, hey?”

Taron blinks at him, and manages to come back smoothly enough. “Ah, yeah, hectic. But I’ve just come off a few days back home, so that was nice.”

“Wish you could have joined us after the Premiere — now that was a night out,” says Michael.

“Yeah, I heard! But I had early press, so…”

“That was such a good night,” says Alex. 

“Yeah, Richard told me…” says Taron.

“Oh yeah, I ran into Richard in Milan,” says Alex. “He’s looking so happy! Brandon is definitely good for him.” That’s all Taron needs, to hear about how good Brandon is for Richard. I mean, he knows it, objectively, but right now he feels invisible, trapped. 

“Definitely more settled. I liked Ellie but she was a bit young for him, I thought,” says Michael.

“Michael!” admonishes Vas. And Michael laughs, shrugs.

“I’m putting bets on wedding bells for those two in the next couple of years,” says Alex. “Brandon just gives me those kind of vibes. The way they look at each other! It’s adorable.”

Taron feels like he’s been stabbed. And now Alex is looking at him, of course, expecting him to blithely concur, assuming that Taron and Richard are just excellent friends having an incredible bromance, because that’s all he’s ever bloody said to anyone. He tries to school his features from _ stricken _ to _ supportive_, has no idea at all what his face looks like right this second. The closet is bad enough but he doesn’t even know what he _ is _ to Richard.

“Yeah,” he grinds out, “they’re mad for each other. Inseparable.” He’s not sure what else he’s supposed to say. He doesn’t _ know _ these people, doesn’t know what Richard’s told them. And suddenly he realises he should have bloody well had at least one conversation with Richard about what he could or couldn’t say in front of these people. He’s such a _ twat_. 

“So this Italy holiday,” says Vas to Alex, “You reckon one of them’s proposing?”

Taron chokes on his beer. They all look at him. “Sorry,” he manages, “breathed in at the wrong time.”

“So,” says Michael to Vas, “Speaking of weddings, how was Morocco? The photos you’ve posted all look incredible…”

“It was _ fabulous_,” says Vas, “but it made me feel far too fucking single and [ I crashed _ badly _ when I got back](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzGk6pzBA3s/). Lonely as hell.” That’s too goddamned close for comfort for Taron and as the others continue talking, he’s only half paying attention, lost in his own misery. When Niall Horan shows up, he excuses himself, says he needs some air and heads out, through the faceless crowds, feeling absolutely unmoored. 

The heat of the day is still cloying as the sun sets and the bodies around him are sheened with sweat and limned with dust. He can smell stale body odour and musky cheap deodorants, incense and cigarettes. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give for a smoke right now. What he wouldn’t give for Richard to be here to share a smoke right now. He can hear music wafting from three different stages, dissonant.

He should probably eat something. He can’t remember if he ate lunch. He should definitely eat something. He buys some Mexican wrap thing and it tastes like cardboard.

He really wants to make it to Stormzy at 10ish at the Pyramid stage but right now that feels like such a long time to wait. As true night lands, the lasers and neon lights and pyrotechnics come out, stark against the sky and playing off the canopies and the stage roofs. He meanders towards pounding beats, tries to lose himself in dancing — he’s never been very good at this, all awkward limbs and dad moves, and it’s not really working tonight either. He wanders into the Wow stage and Daniel Avery dreamscapes and wanders back out again, aimless. He makes it to Stormzy, and maybe this wasn’t such a fucking good idea after all. He’s listening to [ the man sing _ Crown _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bX4Anwyzhmw) when the tears start, and suddenly he’s blindly pushing his way back out of the huge crush, has to get back to his tent.

It’s late, but he doesn’t even think, just throws himself down on the bed and stabs his finger at Richard’s name in his Favourites until it registers and starts the call.

The phone is answered almost immediately, and Taron just chokes out, “I’m sorry,” and then the flood really starts, and he’s sure he called Richard but it’s Brandon’s voice saying, “Taron? What’s wrong? Hang on, hold on…” and then there’s Richard, a little taken aback but soothing in his ear, “Taron? Shhh, sweetheart,” and Taron says, heartbroken, “I shouldn’t have called,” and Richard says, “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m here, you’re okay,” and Taron gulps, and says, “I’m not,” and he keens, an awful sound, wrenched from him, “I’m not okay.”

“Oh love,” says Richard. 

“I’m such a mess,” says Taron.

“Talk to me, I’m listening. I wish I was there.”

Taron takes a deep breath. “I just feel like…” He pauses, tries to steady himself. “You and Brandon are so good together, everyone says so, and I’m a third wheel, and I can’t even tell them I’m with you. I don’t even know what we are to each other.” He feels absolutely ridiculous saying this, but it’s all just spilling out of him now.

“Oh, love. I had no idea you felt like that.”

“One day you’ll marry him and what, am I supposed to be your best man and be happy about it?”

“Whoa… where did _ that _come from?”

“Alex Skarsgård,” says Taron, miserable. 

“And you think what, that if I married Brandon we’d suddenly be monogamous and I’d be choosing him over you?”

“I kind of know it’s dumb but it also feels like what you literally just did, that you chose to be with him right now because… because… you love him more.”

“Oh, T. I don’t love Brandon more than I love you. Love doesn’t work that way. This is my first poly relationship too, and I’m sorry I’m stuffing things up, but you absolutely need to know that, that I love you for who you are, and that what we have is special…”

“Okay…”

“There are things I have with you that I will never have with Brandon. I love _ you_. Okay, you big duffer?”

“I guess. I thought I was taking this all in my stride, but I’m not.” He sniffles, pauses. Starts again. “When I was 14, I… [ had a whole lot of issues](https://attitude.co.uk/article/read-rocketman-star-taron-egertons-attitude-cover-feature-in-full/21034/). We’ve talked about some of that before… obsessively washing my hands, not leaving the house. What I didn’t tell you was that I told my mam I thought I was gay. They sent me to a therapist.”

“Oh, sweetheart…”

“Not just for that, but yeah… I was… terrified. I was a choir boy and you know, threats of hellfire do wonders.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, you know that right?”

“I do. Just... Hear me out?”

“I’m listening.”

“I thought I was gay because I wasn’t attracted to girls. Not because I was attracted to guys. And they told me it was all fine and that I was probably just a late developer. And then, well. Emily. And I thought it was all sorted.”

“Okay.”

“And then you. And Elton told me… that there are some people where attraction doesn’t happen unless you fall in love…”

“You told me…”

“Well, I guess that if we’re fighting, if I’m doubting our love, then it doesn’t work then either. And so the other day…”

“Jesus, Taron.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, love… I didn’t mean… but that whole time?”

“I just thought I could make it work. And I’ve somehow convinced myself that if I was normal instead of demisexual, you would want to be with me more.” There’s a long pause.

“What was the word you just used?” says Richard, finally.

“Demisexual?”

“Okay, I’m going to look that up and learn what I can and I’m going to make more of an effort. You’re important to me and I don’t want you feeling like this.” 

Taron isn’t sure what he was expecting to hear but, as peace offerings go, this one is solid. He feels those words slot into the dark slivers that had begun to appear in him, molten gold repairing him like Japanese pottery.

“I love you, Richard.”

“I love you, Taron. So, so much.”

“I’m really tired.”

“Do you want me to let you go or keep talking to you while you try to sleep?”

“Keep talking…”

“Okay. Lie down. Just imagine I’m holding you…” Richard’s voice rumbles soft in his ear and he turns onto his side. “I want to set time aside for you and I to have special romantic getaways too, just us. Maybe show you Scotland. [ My mountains](https://www.instagram.com/p/BfbKUzJB30I/). It’s so gorgeous. Everyone says it’s bleak but to me it’s majestic. Or somewhere warm, like Hawaii. Have you ever been to the volcanoes? They sound amazing. And we could go snorkeling in Kauai and meet enormous turtles…”

And Taron drifts off, truly safe for the first time in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned, this chapter is an homage to [_(Do You Ever) Think About Me_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19431169) by [th_esaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/th_esaurus/pseuds/th_esaurus). That story is absolutely phenomenal — it takes flat Taron in the helicopter and weaves a magical, sad tale of loneliness and heartbreak that I could never hope to equal. At the same time, I knew that I was going to have a sad, lonely Taron wandering around Glastonbury and that I was also going to end up with him making a phone call to Richard from a tipi, distraught, and that Brandon was also going to be with Richard. Knowing that, I combed through my story for inadvertent similarities and I've done my best to weed them all out — none of the bands are the same, Taron doesn't speak to any of the same people, Brandon answers the phone rather than being in the background; I even removed a reference to glow sticks because it felt too similar. I hope I've done enough that this is a hat-tip rather than a lazy remix.
> 
> In real life, Taron followed Niall on July 1 on Instagram, pretty much immediately after Glastonbury so they probably really did hang out (Vas posted a photo of himself and Niall but not one where Taron and Niall were in the same photo, so I handwaved it). Sorry to Niall fans if you were hoping for that interaction...
> 
> Ironically, I'd like to thank the people on Tumblr who attacked me for arguing that Taron might actually be demisexual in real life and not know it for alerting me to the article I link to during his conversation with Richard at the end. You think it proves your point, but I definitely think it can be argued in the way I've used it here. 
> 
> I'm sorry I don't have anon turned on over at Tumblr any more... if you're curious about your sexuality, though, and think you might be aspec or demi and want to talk about it, my inbox should be open even if we're not mutuals. Send me a message, we can chat.


	13. in the cradle of your cabin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard realises he fucked up; chainsmoking is bad, m'kay?; Richard googles demisexuality; Brandon Flynn: World Champion Metamour; Richard knows how to do a proper four-part apology; Taron and Richard talk (a.k.a healthy communication is healthy); Richard really is a sucker for a fast car.
> 
> A journey towards understanding from Richard’s POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot thank [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus) enough this week. First of all, she read this chapter when I first finished it and gave great feedback. I fixed some things she identified but overall, it flowed well, the events went together well... And then, I had a conversation with someone who was at ACE ComicCon Seattle who told me their photo op was at 10.30 in the morning. And I was like, "What? But Taron's panel wasn't till 4pm! I have him flying in around midday on Sunday..." and she said, "Nah, pretty sure he landed the day before..." Sure enough, when I listened to the ACE ComicCon panel while writing chapter 14, he clearly says he landed at 5.30 on the Saturday... Some people would have handwaved that piece of information. After all, this chapter you are about to read was completely _finished_.
> 
> But no. I'm _obsessed_. So I went back and rejigged this chapter completely. Moved events that were in the morning to the afternoon. Moved conversations that were in the afternoon to the morning. Went back to the Glastonbury program and changed the bands that T was watching because it was Saturday _morning_ at Glastonbury not Saturday night. And then heavensfallingaroundus read the whole thing again, to make sure it still worked. And gave me feedback on it.
> 
> And _then_, last weekend, did what we in the biz call a line edit — went through with a fine-toothed comb for typos and errant punctuation, and clunky grammar. Even after I'd been completely weird at her the day before (long story involving not enough sleep). So. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Oh, and again for the Gaelic. If there are still any glitches, they're entirely my fault.
> 
> I also want to thank Em, my other trusty beta reader, who's going through a hard time at the moment but still made a big effort to read this chapter last night and reassured me about some of the emotional beats I wasn't sure were working. The World Champion Metamour description is also hers. Love you forever, hon.

Richard hangs up and stares at his phone for a solid five minutes, then goes out to where Brandon is having a cigarette on the balcony. 

“I,” he declares, “have fucked up right royally in ways I didn’t even know were possible.”

He takes the lighter and the smoke Brandon is holding out and lights it, inhales. Brandon pats the spot next to him leaning against the railing. It’s late — they had a [ wonderful time](https://twitter.com/marts_who/status/1144667016055468033?s=20) at [ Son Brillo](https://m.facebook.com/377597366316166/photos/a.381862512556318/381862489222987/) earlier in the evening and had been heading to bed when Taron called. 

“Do you want to tell me about it? Is he okay?”

Richard thunks himself back against the wall. “Not really. I thought he was… he said he was? Before. But he clearly wasn’t.”

“Is this still about us and the trip? I’m so sorry. If anyone stuffed up the dates, it was me…”

Richard leans over to Brandon and busses his cheek. “Not your fault. I could have said, _ lovely idea, darling, but not this time_.” He takes another drag on the cigarette, trying to make sense of any of it. And maybe it is time he talked with someone instead of trying to handle everything himself. “The trip is where it started. Definitely.”

Richard takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I’m so uncomfortable talking about this stuff. But I’m gonna try. Because you’re both worth it an’ I dinna want to lose either of ye.” Lawks, if he’s not careful, Brandon won’t know what he’s on about. He makes an effort to calm his heartbeat, swallow the lump in his throat and drag his accent back into line. 

“He’s, y’know, hyper-organised, close to obsessive, and… me being so blasé about the date, about cancelling… felt like I was saying I didn’t care. Not just about the trip, but about _ him_. And then…” 

Richard takes another cigarette from the pack, lights it from the one he has and grinds out the first one. He carefully puts the butt into the sand on the little stand, and leans back to inhale again. His chest is tight and his mind is going in circles, analysing the memories of that afternoon, trying to see what he missed. Taron had started it all — had kissed him, had offered to suck him off. He’d been _ enthusiastic _— hadn’t he?

“Then?”

“Do you know the word demisexual?”

“Yes? Mostly from tumblr. People who don’t like casual sex, right?”

“I guess? Taron seems to use it more like, ‘people who need to be in love to experience desire’.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t really know if it’s my place to talk about the rest or if I’ve already said more than I ought. It feels like his private business. I knew Taron got lost when he was alone and I knew he got panicky, and I told him I’d take care of him, and I just didn’t. Not… _ enough_.”

“Okay…”

“Suffice to say, I fucked up, he’s having a bit of a break-down and it’s partly my fault, for not paying enough attention, in a variety of ways, and partly his, for not telling me what was going on, and for not trusting in us enough, but then, I hadn’t given him reason to, had I? What a _ bloody _mess.” Richard looks down at the cigarette, which seems to be all ash all of a sudden, and contemplates lighting a third one.

Brandon is peering at him quizzically, like he’s trying to piece together what’s not being said, trying to be respectful and supportive, but also worried. Richard can read all that on his face, that expressive, open, loving face. “I’m sorry I’m laying this all on you, Brandon. We’re supposed to be having a romantic getaway for my birthday…”

“Sweetheart.” Brandon’s voice is as close to stern as Richard’s ever heard it. “This is about your other lover, who is also my friend and who is in pain right now. Do you honestly think I’d feel comfortable pretending nothing was happening and playing happy families?”

“No?” suggests Richard.

Brandon just shakes his head at him. “Is he okay right now?”

“Yeah, he’s… asleep. We talked and we sorted it out and I told him…” Richard’s voice catches — it’s too much. Brandon just waits. Patiently. Richard breathes in. Out. “I told him how much I love him.”

Brandon reaches over and takes Richard’s hand. “Good,” he says. “It’s late. Let’s get some sleep too.”

Richard looks across at him, grateful, holds out his hand, and Brandon takes it. 

It takes a while for Richard to fall asleep, but he’s comforted by Brandon’s arms around his middle the whole time he lies there thinking, Brandon’s cheek against Richard’s broad shoulder, his legs tangled up with Richard’s legs, his gentle, sleep-sodden breaths rising and falling in the dark.

***

The next morning, while Brandon is making breakfast, Richard googles _ demisexuality_. He finds a few basic [ articles](https://www.bustle.com/articles/155277-what-does-demisexual-mean-here-are-6-signs-that-you-may-identify-as-demisexual) and a pretty good one [ aimed at teenagers](https://www.seventeen.com/love/a21999166/demisexual-meaning-definition-signs/). He reads Wikipedia. He stumbles on one called [ Confessions of Demisexual People](http://whisper.sh/stories/41f80d26-a962-450d-8b1d-628d66833cbb/Confessions-From-People-Who-Identify-As-Demisexual) and there it is. “All the people I’ve slept with,” it says, “I wasn’t attracted to. They just got me aroused and I’m too shy to say no so I went with it.”

It breaks his heart a little and for a moment he wonders whether he’s misinterpreted everything the whole way along, whether Taron has faked _ all of it _ but that’s just not possible — he has vivid memories of experiences where Taron was having a _ very _ good time, and being _ extremely vocal _ about it. 

He’s not saying he’s _ asexual_. It was just that one time.

One time too many. 

Richard firmly resolves to make sure he gets clear _ verbal _consent from now on though. 

Then he tries to imagine not wanting sex when it’s on offer. Let’s be really honest, here. Richard is _ always _up for it, is yet to meet a pretty face or attractive body that doesn’t elicit some kind of physical response in him, has had to train himself over years to hide that. When he was younger, he couldn’t get enough, and even now he’s happiest with morning and night and three times on Sundays. 

It suddenly occurs to him with a sick feeling that maybe it hasn’t been just this once, that even if Taron stopped him, what if there are others in his past who just _ went along with it_? He suddenly, urgently, needs to know that _ Brandon never… _oh god. 

“Honey?” he calls out, already moving towards the kitchenette but too impatient to wait. 

“Nice timing!” says Brandon, putting plates on the counter, piled high with American flapjacks drizzled with syrup. “What’s up?” he says, concerned, as he looks up and there’s Richard’s anxiety wearing an ill-fitting Richard suit. 

“Did you ever… when we…” He stops, regroups. “Have you ever said yes to me when you weren’t into it?”

“Oh, love…” Brandon keeps moving like nothing has been said, moving the forks to the table, placing tumblers of juice next to plates. “C’mere.”

Richard sits. Waits. Fiddles. Brandon holds his hand and he stills. 

“Not the way I think you mean it?” says Brandon finally. “Sometimes I’m tired but you flirting with me wakes me up again. And sometimes I make a decision in the moment to go with the flirting even though I know I’m tired because I know from experience that I will get interested. I’ve never — what’s that expression, ‘lie back and think of England’? — I’ve never done that.”

“Promise me you never will? Promise me you’ll always let me know?”

“Promise.” He drinks some of his juice. “So. Do you want to talk to me about what happened with Taron? Do you just need reassurance that you’re not an awful person? Because, no matter what happened, I know that much. Did you want some advice? I can try.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” says Richard. “I don’t have a script for this.”

“So the first thing you’re doing is texting Taron and finding out how he’s doing this morning. And then, this afternoon, I’m taking you somewhere where your mind can, like, relax, zone out for a while. And maybe there’ll be some answers on the other side of that, yeah?”

Richard stares at Brandon for a moment. That all sounds… very sensible. “Yeah. Good. Good idea,” he manages, and fumbles his phone out. He stares at it. “Uh…”

“Tell him you love him. Ask if he’s okay.”

Richard nods, types out the text. Simple. Everything. _ I love you. _He thinks of a hundred corny other things to say but none of them are right and in the end he sends that, by itself. 

And in a matter of seconds, Taron replies:

_09:48am: I love you too. _

**09:49am: How are you going?**

_09:52am: Better. Thank you. For listening. _

**09:52am: Always, love . **

_09:53am: Do you feel like talking a bit? I can wander around the bands and it can be like you’re here?_

**09:53am: Of course. ❤️ I’d love that. **

“I’m gonna guess by the smile on your face that he’s okay?” says Brandon, from where he's been sitting, quietly.

Richard looks up, shyly. “Yeah. Well, better. I’m going to call him, okay?”

“Take as long as you need, babe. But take your flapjacks?”

***

Alone in the bedroom, he writes himself a little script. It takes him forever to work out the words. Then he calls Taron.

“Before you say anything…” he starts, as soon as Taron picks up, “I owe you an apology. Can you just listen and not interrupt me for a second?”

“Yes? OK…” Richard can hear Taron’s a bit cautious, and he can hear the ambient noise of the festival in the background. He’s already out and about, then.

He picks up his piece of paper and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I was selfish. I know that I hurt you, and that I didn’t keep my word and take care of you. I took you for granted, I think. You are incredibly precious to me, my love, my heart, my boy. I am in love with you. We muck around but I need you to know that. I am sorry that my actions meant you felt abandoned and alone. From now on, I’ll do better to communicate and to listen. Will you forgive me?”

_ “_Oh. My. God. _ Richard_.” Taron swallows, audibly. “Don’t make me cry in front of everyone. Of _ course _ I will.” 

“I meant every word,” says Richard. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much. And I’m going to tell you that every day from now on.”

“I’m sorry too. That I didn’t trust you enough to tell you earlier where my head was.”

“When you’re somewhere more private, or another time, can we talk more about that? I googled demisexuality…”

“You didn’t!”

“I really did. I want to make sure I understand, properly.”

“Yeah, we can absolutely talk later, darling. Walk with me?”

“I’d love to. Tell me what it’s like? How long have you got?”

“I’ve got till just after midday. Plane out of Heathrow at 3ish. Um. It’s hot and a bit dusty… I can see [ Gemma and her crew over there](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzY1YH7FDO-/), want to say hi?”

“No, I just want to be with you for now,” he says, warm.

“Okay,” says Taron, his voice equally warm and soft. Richard can _ hear _the smile in it.

“Who have you seen today?”

“Things haven’t really started yet. Had breakfast with the guys. [ Mark Ronson was running around with a camera](https://www.thecut.com/amp/2019/07/celebrities-at-glastonbury-festival-2019-photos.html)… But I hear there’s an Australian crew called Cat Empire starting at 11.30. Very funky with like a Wurlitzer and a whole brass section. Shall we do that?”

“Sounds brilliant, love.”

And he burrows deeper into the bed and listens as Taron wanders around, narrating people’s outfits and once they get to the Other Stage, holding up the phone to the band from time to time, and they talk and talk, comfortable again. Richard closes his eyes, listens to the groove of the bass, the rising notes on top, and when the saxophone and trumpet comes in, he hears Taron call out, “yessssssss!” And he smiles, imagining the dancing and the heat and the lights, and he says, for the twentieth time that morning, “I love you.”

***

After a little more sightseeing, Brandon and Richard head out for a late lunch at [ a little restaurant](https://www.bitchyf.it/brandon-flynn-richard-madden-puglia/) near the [ Porta Rudiae](https://mobile.twitter.com/massyscalinci/status/1145009739203584001). Richard took Brandon back to La Pietra Prende Forma because, while it might not have been right for a gift for Taron, the sculpture they’ve chosen together is going to look unbelievable in their living room. He’s not going to think about the shipping cost. 

They talk about the upcoming family trip to Algarve, and Richard replies to Cara about arrival times for the graduation ceremony next week. 

He doesn’t want to go back to work, even if work does mean a fucking Marvel movie — I mean, Ikaris, what on earth. He knows it’ll be endless training and pain before it’s the fun and flow of actual acting. And he’s read the script but he still hasn’t worked out how much time he’ll get to spend with Kit, and what that will be like post-rehab anyhow. He doesn’t think he himself has a drinking problem but he’ll admit in a heartbeat that many of his good times involve a lot of beer and whisky and frequently a toke or three and if Kit’s tee-total now, he’s not sure whether they can pick up where they left off. He hopes they’ll just slot back into their friendship — it’s not like they lost touch but they haven’t hung out recently. 

“Okay, out with it…” says Brandon. 

“Huh?” he responds, still pondering. 

“You’ve got lost in your thoughts.”

“Aye, sorry. Awa’ wi’ the fae, as my gran would say. Thinking about Kit… and work.”

“Can’t help worrying about the next thing, that’s my Madden. I have a surprise for you this afternoon, gorgeous, that I think might solve that issue.”

Richard’s phone goes off and he lifts it from the table to look, thinking it’ll be Cara again. “Oh, it’s from Taron. Gimme a sec?”

He opens the text and then laughs out loud but he can also feel himself blush a little. 

“I don’t want to know what that was about, do I?” says Brandon. 

Still laughing, Richard shakes his head. “Probably for the best, love.” He taps out a response. 

Brandon smiles at him, indulgent and fond. “I’m so glad you two sorted that out. You had me a little worried there.”

“Me too. Doesn’t bear thinking about.” If Richard were religious, he’d cross himself or something right now. As it is, he surreptitiously presses his fingers into the wood of the table and mutters the little benediction of superstitious pagans everywhere. 

“Okay. So eat your lunch. You’re going to fucking love this.”

***

“This” turns out to be driving at speed on [ 12.5 kilometres of perfectly circular banked track that can be seen from space](https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/nardo-ring). Richard’s heard of the Nardò Ring — what car freak hasn’t? — but it’s been closed for more than a year and he somehow managed to blank on the idea that they’d actually be near it what with everything else that was going on. Brandon, being the absolute genius that he is, apparently was chatting with someone in Monaco at the Grand Prix, heard it was [ reopening in July](https://www.motor1.com/news/359611/porsche-reopens-nardo-track/), and wangled some kind of favour so they have the whole track and Richard can drive at 240kmph in Lane 4 if he really wants to and boy, is he tempted. He’s also absolutely gobsmacked, stunned, thrilled and bursting with incredulity and adoration. It’s the perfect gift, and the idea that Brandon has managed to keep quiet about it for a month is frankly impressive.

“Signor Madden!” gushes the managing director. “I am Antonio Gratis, I’m so pleased you could come!”

“Thank you so much for having us,” says Richard. 

“And you must be Signor Flynn! We spoke on the telephone.”

“Brandon, please,” says Brandon, reaching out to shake the man’s hand.

“So the renovations are finished?” says Richard. “It looks amazing…”

“Sì,” says Antonio. “Completely repaved and we have also installed a new guard rail. We open officially next week but we are thrilled to have you here. And before you say anything, of course we understand that this is a leisure visit and not for publicity. Signor Flynn made it quite clear.” Richard didn’t think he could love the man more. He keeps being surprised.

“We really appreciate your discretion,” says Brandon. 

“So, Signor Madden, did you want to drive or just watch?”

“I can drive?!” he says, incredulous. Both of the other men laugh. 

“Assuming you have your license, then yes. Come, we will take you to get changed and show you to your car for the day.”

Brandon was right: once he’s on the track, there is absolutely nothing in his mind but the purr of the engine and the hum of the wind whipping past him. He doesn’t have to shift the wheel at all — it really does feel like he’s driving straight ahead but at the same time he’s very obviously going around the circuit. It’s like a dream but he’s also hyper-aware, every second split into 20, the world slightly brighter, the feeling of the wheel under his hands sending back hair-thin changes in angle to his brain. It’s exhilarating and when it’s over he feels clear-headed, resolute, unassailable. 

He gets out of the car and practically lifts Brandon off the ground when he hugs him, spins him around and Brandon is grinning from ear to ear. “Good, then?”

“The best. Fantastic! Superlative!”

“Glad to hear it, Signor,” smiles Antonio and Richard remembers he exists but can’t bring himself to care and doesn’t let go of Brandon. 

“I love you and I love T and I think I know what I need to do,” he gushes. 

Brandon laughs, light and happy. “Good for you but unless it has to happen right this second, what you need is to change out of those clothes and maybe shower?”

“What, you don’t like adrenaline sweat?”

Antonio clears his throat, ever so delicately. 

“And when you are ready, please, you are both invited for a drink with our team,” says Antonio. 

“Of course,” says Richard. “Thank you so much for this. Just _ magnificent_.”

***

After the drink with the Porsche crew, Brandon and he get back into the rental car — it’s nice, but _ definitely _a step down — and head for Otranto. They spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around a 15th century castle and an 11th century cathedral. 

Richard totally understands wanting to buy here now — the landscape, the climate, the history — plus it’s also just lovely how much most of the people around them just leave them alone. It’s all pretty surreal. A couple of people ask for selfies and they demur, saying they’re on holiday, and everyone is generous about that.

They know there are other celebrities who’ve bought villas in Puglia — Helen Mirren and Meryl Streep among the more well-known — not that they know any of them well enough to contact them, or even join them for a drink if they bumped into them. Besides, the only other person he wants in their little bubble is Taron. 

They have dinner in Otranto and head back to their hotel. Richard settles into bed and browses Instagram while he waits for Brandon to finish in the shower. He comments "[missing you!](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzTqXpmhltz/)” on even more Glastonbury posts. And then his stunning boyfriend comes into the room wrapped only in a white towel slung low on his hips and Richard is struck again by his beauty and strength, reels him in, takes the towel off him and drops it to the floor, wraps his broad hand around the back of Brandon’s neck and draws him down for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, there's no evidence whatsoever that Richard and Brandon went to Nardò. But it's right there and it really did just reopen and Richard loves his fast cars. Hence Signor Gratis (yeah, according to the press release, that's his actual name) saying he'd keep the visit on the downlow. (The things you find when you google 'things to do around Lecce'...)
> 
> Cat Empire really are an amazing band — I'm Australian and I couldn't resist having them be the band the guys watch when I saw they were on the program at the right time. Thanks to Mark Ronson for actually taking those photos at Glastonbury — if it weren't for you, we would never have known the elusive Michael's last name and I would never have been able to work out who he was.
> 
> What else? You'll find out what Taron texted Richard next week... also what Richard came up with while he was racing...
> 
> Also, I lied last week. I said in one of the comments that there were four chapters and an epilogue to go and then halfway through writing chapter 15, I realised that was not going to happen. So there are now five chapters after this and an epilogue to go.
> 
> And finally (god, sorry, these notes keep getting longer) if these last few chapters are raising questions for you, about whether you might be demi or on the asexual spectrum, like I said last week, my in box is open at tumblr and I'm happy to chat.


	14. the window wide and open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taron leaves Glastonbury feeling much better than he arrived; he doesn't shock the airport staff but he thinks about it; Taron and Richard resolve their differences even more; Taron's jetlag gets the better of them; absence makes the knob throb harder and the phone sex more intense; Taron goes to ACE ComicCon Seattle; Taron's fans are incredible; Taron's panel at ComicCon is sublime. 
> 
> A wild few hours from Taron's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is another one that had a rewrite due to time shifts, as i mentioned last week, and so it had multiple versions of the beginning at least — so thanks again to [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus) for endless patience as the pieces finally fell into place. So grateful to you for being an ear as I think aloud trying to work out how it all goes together. Again, I need to thank you for the Scots Gaelic... it's taking on a life of its own now, but it began with you. Sorry not sorry for the porn — it's not my fault you insist on reading this stuff on public transport...
> 
> And thanks again to Em for your beta work as well, in the middle of moving house! Beyond the call of duty. Love you always.
> 
> Honestly, I think listening to the ACE ComicCon panel was one of the moments I knew I had to write a part three to Bromance at all, so this chapter is a love letter to Taron, his generosity, his honesty and his talent. Happy 30th, T.

Getting back to his tipi is so different today in comparison to the night before. He’s warm, and feels held. It was wonderful having Richard on the other end of the phone in his ear. They’d talked for literally two hours and they hadn’t run out of things to say, but he also knows there are things they haven’t said.

Cat Empire was utterly, utterly incredible. Such a good decision. Just one of those acts that was made for a festival, big, fun, uplifting. 

He takes a moment to check Instagram, sees that Luke has posted a sleepy video because [ he hit two million followers](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzSQAmundTt/) and that’s just gold. He comments, “Annoying. I look like the creature from the black lagoon straight out of bed ❤️” because he knows Luke will love the flirting, and Luke replies, “it’s a very bright bedroom!!!” and Taron honestly isn’t sure what that’s supposed to mean but he likes the comment anyway.

Ah well, time to start packing for Seattle.

Sorting through his gear, he discovers the butt plug. He’d initially thought he might want it at the festival, but in reality he’d turned out to be a little less adventurous — it’d be weird, out there among everyone, doing that, not to mention he was so far from being in the mood it wasn’t funny. He thinks about how Richard’s might have reacted if he’d told him he was wearing it this morning and then he wonders where he would have taken it out, the airport loos? For one utterly bizarre moment, he imagines getting caught with it in the scanner and doubles over laughing until his sides hurt. No, nope, that is not happening today. When he finally gets his breath back, he packs the plug carefully away, neatly under his T-shirts and socks, takes a photo of it peeking out and texts Richard.

_12.07pm: To plug or not to plug? Sudden image of traumatising airline staff running the body scanner has greatly amused me. Maybe another day? Love you._

**12.08pm: 😱🤣**

**12.09pm: I’m trying to imagine the headlines. 😱 Love you, too.**

And Taron smiles to himself. It’s going to be okay. They’re going to talk every day and Richard’s going to tell him he loves him, and they’re going to navigate this bizarre, intense, beautiful thing they have together, and maybe, weirdly, him going to Glastonbury alone and all this coming to a head like this was actually for the best. He doesn’t believe in fate — he swears — but some days, it’s enough to make you wonder.

***

When he lands in Seattle, it’s half past five local time.

On his way up to the hotel room, he texts Richard:

_ 6.02pm: Almost settled in. Too late for a goodnight call? _

**6.03pm: All good. Was just reading in bed. Let me get up so I don’t disturb B. **

Taron lets himself into the room and puts his bags down. The phone rings almost immediately.

“Give me a sec,” he says, and lays the phone down on the bed. He shrugs out of his sweaty clothes and lies down, flicks on air conditioning, the cool breeze fresh on his skin. He picks up the phone again. “Back.” He rests one hand on his belly, under his T-shirt and tucks the one with the phone in it up near his head.

“Comfy?” asks Richard.

“Very,” says Taron.

“So did you seriously take a butt plug to Glastonbury?”

“Starting with the important things, I see.” Taron smirks. “Yes, I actually brought the plug with me. I’d been making plans to use it there long before we were fighting. Because you told me it responded to music and I thought…”

“Oh my god. I thought that meant music on the _ phone…_”

“It’s both — music on the phone and sounds through the mic…”

“Did you _ try _ it?!”

Taron laughs. “Only so far as I tried to work out how that function operated, in my hand.”

“_God_, now I’m imagining listening to you sing while you try not to come,” says Richard.

Taron shivers, that squirmy feeling of arousal stirring in his belly.

“I’d like that,” he whispers.

“I’m nervous to be playing games like this, T. I’m scared I’m going to stuff things up again.”

“We can start slow.”

“Will it make you feel weird if I literally ask you whether you’re turned on from time to time?”

“I honestly don’t know. But I love you. And I want this to work. So try it? And I’ll let you know.”

“Now?”

“Sure. I’m lying on my bed, in just my boxers and T-shirt…”

“And are you turned on? Did it turn you on, talking about the plug just now?”

“It turned me on, you talking about me singing for you. The idea of trying to hold my voice steady with that buzz inside me, for you.” His cock plumps up ever so slightly as he says it, and he shifts his position, turns onto his side so that the phone is under his ear.

“What is it about that that excites you?”

“The challenge in the performance. Your attention on me. Such close attention...” He can’t help the little gasp that escapes from his lips, as a spike of want shoots through him. “[We all do it for the attention, don’t we, us actors?](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/post/189035334188/the-hfpa-in-conversation-taron-egerton-on-apple)”

“I keep discovering new ways I let you down…”

“Don’t, darling. Don’t beat yourself up. Just be here now. I love you.”

“I love you. Can we keep things simple, right now?”

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, love.”

“God, that feels like it’s the wrong way around. I should be saying that to you.”

“Richard. My love. It goes both ways. You deserve to be comfortable too. Are you turned on, talking with me?”

“On and off over the day, listening to your voice in my ear. God, your _ voice_, Taron. The things it does to me. Trying not to think about it too much.”

“Says the man with the brogue the entire Internet swoons over… We can leave it for tonight, if you want, though. Build the anticipation. I know that’s tough for you…”

It feels good to josh around with Richard again.

“So… are we having that conversation about us now, or are you too tired?”

“I feel like we’re in a good place right now and also that I don’t want anything hanging over us still. So if you’ve got more questions, let’s have them…”

“So. Like I said, I looked up demisexual,” says Richard. He sounds a little hesitant. “I think I understand a bit more. The other day, though—that was the first time you didn’t feel like it with me, though, yeah?”

“Yeah, love. Swear I’ve enjoyed everything else we’ve done. And I promise I’ll tell you from now on if I’m not enjoying myself. That wasn’t fair to either of us, but like I said, I wasn’t in a good headspace.”

“I feel like you tried to tell me a few times, but I wasn’t getting the hint. I guess sex is just such a part of my life, we were sometimes talking across each other without meaning to. I don’t mean that day, I mean before that.”

“Yeah, I guess when we’re coming from such different perspectives, that kind of confusion is easy.”

“So just to be really, really clear: do you actually _ like _ the dom/sub stuff, or is that something you’re doing for me?”

“I love that stuff. I like it better than sex, sometimes, doing what I’m told — been told I take direction well, I have —” He chuckles.

“Cheeky!” interjects Richard.

“… having you make the decisions, feeling wanted and so loved. I… like, the other day, one of the things that went wrong was when you told me to stay still but you weren’t holding me down any more. I can’t explain it but it felt like if I had to do it myself, it was still me making the choice. God, it makes no sense to me, how is it supposed to make sense to you?”

“I kind of get it. I love it too. I would absolutely have let go of this stuff if we needed to, but I’m glad we don’t have to.”

Richard clears his throat, then. “So. I think I had an idea about what you need from me, what we need, to survive these times apart.”

“Yeah?”

“I want us to check in every day, even when we’re filming, even when we don’t have time to talk, just to say ‘I love you’ and to tell each other, honestly, where we are emotionally. Say good morning every morning and good night every night.”

Taron breathes into that, and it feels like a hug. “That would be brilliant, love.”

“And I want to ask you to do something for me.” He sounds hesitant. 

“What is it?” asks Taron, curious. 

“I want you to think about a little ritual you’re going to do for me, every day.” Taron’s little sucked in breath at that is entirely involuntary. Richard hums at that. “It doesn’t need to be sexual. It probably shouldn’t be. But on top of other things I might ask you to do, you’ll do your ritual every morning and think about how you’re doing it because I love you and I’ve asked you to do it.”

Taron ducks his head and lowers his eyes, even though Richard can’t see him. He can feel the edges of that floaty feeling setting in to him and he says, quietly, “Thank you, Richard. I’d like that.”

“You don’t have to come up with it right away. Or I can, if you want me to. But let me know? What time are you due at the con tomorrow?”

“10.30. Why?”

“Definitely text me if you wanna play in the morning. I want to hear _ all _ of it.”

“It’s a date, my darling. Goodnight. Sweet dreams.” 

After he hangs up, he thinks to himself, _ I’m just going to close my eyes for 10 minutes and then I’ll go and find some dinner, see a little bit of the city_. 

***

When he opens his eyes, it’s twenty past four in the morning. So much for seeing Seattle. On the other hand, he feels actually well-rested for the first time in forever. He guesses he needed 10-plus solid hours of sleep. There’s not much he can do at this hour… hang on, though, there is one _ benefit_: it’s the middle of the day in Italy.

“Hello, gorgeous…” he breathes into the phone, and maybe he’s deliberately lowered it a bit, like a secret. 

He hears Richard breathe in, sharp.

“You’re up early.”

“International flight’s a bitch.” Taron laughs. “Hey, so I heard you like it when I talk to you and I had an idea…”

“Yeah?” says Richard.

“What if I tell you everything I’m doing to myself, and you can direct a little, if you want.”

“_God, yes_. Taron…” Richard already sounds wrecked.

“Are you somewhere you can do this?” Taron runs the hand on his belly lightly across his chest hair, scratches a little. “Or do we need to wait…?”

“Just…” More rustling, a click. “OK, I’m in the bedroom now.”

“Will Brandon be okay if he comes in there and you’re on the phone wanking with me?”

“He might want to watch or join in — would that freak you out?”

Taron thinks about it for a moment. “No, I think I could handle that. I’m not in the same room…”

Richard moans a little. “Taron…”

“Are you thinking of me telling you and him what to do to each other?”

There’s a small strangled sound before Richard manages to get out, “_Oh god_.”

“I’ve never done anything like that before but I’m willing to try if it results in you making that noise again.”

“I’m so hard for you, Taron. You arouse me so much. Your _ voice_.”

“Are you touching yourself, Richard?”

“Not yet, love. I’m waiting for you. What are you wearing? Tell me.”

Taron runs his fingertips across his taut belly. “Same as last night. Black tee. Boxers. I fell asleep just after we talked. [ I’m just lifting my shirt up for now. I’m running my fingers across my skin, just above the band of my boxers. I’m fit right now, just muscle](https://www.instagram.com/p/B3kAS3QFDMT/).” He can hear Richard’s breathing deepen as he speaks.

“Yeah?” breathes Richard. “I wanna dip my fingers under those boxers, just tease you, feather light fingers on your skin.”

“Mmm. I’m doing that now, just dipping under the waistband. Feels so good, Rich.” He hears movement. “It’s so quiet here, in the dark, Richard, just your voice in my ear.”

“Yeah?”

“I feel wrapped up in you. Just wanna be good for you.”

“You are. You’re _ so _ good. Run your fingers under your shirt to your nipple. Pinch it for me?”

“Yeah…” Taron trails his left hand from under his pants, up across his midriff, to his right nipple, runs the middle finger across the broad centre in a slight circle and hums as it contracts, moves his hand down and takes the nub between his forefinger and thumb, gasps slightly as he presses them firmly together, trapping his sensitive flesh. “I’m pinching it. It hurts a little but it feels really good too.” He wriggles a little. “Really good.”

“Fuck, Taron.”

“What about you, what are you wearing?”

“Uh, white tee, denim jeans… they’re so tight right now,” says Richard.

“Feel yourself through them for me? Just press down.” Richard groans. “Are you doing it? Are you palming your hard cock for me?”

“_Yes_, Jesus, Taron.”

“Open your fly and take your prick out of your pants. Are you dripping for me, Richard?”

“Yeah, covered in it,” he moans again, obscene. “So slippery and hot for ye.”

“God, _ Richard_.” 

“Tell me more… Are you… is this turning you on?”

His breath hitches. “Yes, love. I’m still just running my fingers over my nipples and my belly. Pinching every so often. Using my nails a little.”

“You like that? Should I scratch you up more often?”

“Yeah, Richard, and…” He moans, imagining it, “your fingers, on my neck, like, scritching the nape of my neck…”

“Do that now, run your fingers through your hair…”

“Mmm, yeah. I’m imagining you doing it, they’re your fingers, your nails on me. Richard, I wish you were here right now, I miss you so much.”

“I love you. I love you so much, Taron.”

“Tell me?”

“I love how smart you are, and how generous you are. I love your vulnerability — how in touch you are with your emotions. I love how your breath hitches when I praise you and how your eyes lower when you’re embarrassed to ask for something.” That makes Taron lower his eyes right then, and he laughs a little, heated. “I love how you’re so fucking sensual — how you eat fried chicken, for god’s sake,” continues Richard, “and how ye lose yourself in the sensations when you’ve got my cock in that mouth of yours.” Taron feels himself getting warmer throughout this little speech, his cock starting to take an interest in proceedings. 

“Mmmm,” he says. “I love losing myself in that. You might say I have a bit of an oral fixation…”

“Ye might, might you? Well, love. Why don’t ye shove a few fingers in right now and suck on them for me, get them nice and wet?”

Taron mumbles around his mouthful, sucking sloppily on three fingers that he slides in and out of his mouth and it’s so filthy, and brazen, he’s suddenly glad for the darkness, imagining anyone seeing him like this, so hungry for it. Makes deliberate wet sounds down the phone for Richard’s benefit.

“That sounds so feckin’ hot, my darlin’,” says Richard, and there are sounds in the background, rhythmic slaps of hand on hot flesh, up and down.

Taron takes his wet fingers out of his mouth, shoves his shorts down and wraps his hand around his cock. “Touching myself now, love, feels so good. Wet fingers around my cock. I’m _ ahhh _ pulling myself, feels _ sooooooo _ good, Richard, right magic, _ fuck…” _

“Yes, _ Taron_, god, the _ sound _of ye… I’m close, love. Fucking my fist, imagining it’s you, your mouth.”

Taron speeds up his hand, adds a twist at the end every time now. “I’m… yeah… my hand… so fast… my head’s purple… _ ohhhhh fuck… _ just sliding in and out… _ wanna come… _”

“So close, Taron. I love you, I love you, gonna come all over my T-shirt… _ Fuck yesssss. _ Come for me, Taron, come for me…”

“_Uhhhhhhhhh Richard…” _ Taron pulses hot all over his hand, strokes himself frantic through it, bucks into his fist, and then they’re both just breathing hard on the other end of the line, until Richard says, smug, “Well then. Good morning…” and Taron laughs, hums back at him, “Very good. The _ best_.”

Warm endorphins wash through him and he slips back into dozing, just lightly, faintly hears, “I love you, _ mo luran_, talk later…” as the call disconnects.

***

It’s another one of these massive American conventions, filled with people who frequently know more about his films than he does. Everyone is pretty much uniformly delightful, and he does his best to call everyone ‘my darling’ and make the effort they’ve put in worth it, make the time with him special for them. He’s been doing photo ops and signing things since 10.30am, and it’s past lunch time already.

“I don’t cry easily at films but the scene in ‘Your Song’…” says the next woman in the line. She has pink hair and she’s wearing a denim vest like his Tiny Dancer jacket — honestly, the work these folks have put in is just stunning some times.

“It’s a tearjerker, right?” he says.

“‘Your Song’ made me cry,” she says. “It absolutely got me. It was absolutely beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it — he’s touched every time.

“And then the story of you giving Elton the glasses was lovely…”

“He wears them, you know?”

“I know, I love that.”

“He’s _ soooo _ cute.” He’s not going to think about the fact that he just called Elton Hercules John ‘cute’.

“So I made this for you…” she says, and she hands him this [ absolutely stunning funko pop doll made up to look like him in his orange devil outfit](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzHMJVjAU7k/) and he cannot believe it. It’s _ amazing_.

“That is _ beautiful_!”

“I applied all of them by hand. It comes with his own little custom box. He’s very delicate, the gems kinda want to come off but…” she’s saying.

“I’m not going to cram him into this box…” 

“I can do it for you…” she says, and she does, and then there’s a [ few more photo ops with her](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzWDmVNAvhJ/), and seriously, he’s reinvigorated by these incredible fans. He texts Richard, “uh oh, I think I might be addicted to the attention… will you help keep me together when this one’s over and it’s just me again?” and Richard texts back, straight away, “course, love. I’ll give you all the attention you want…” even though it’s getting late over there, and of course the bastard’s included a winky face emoji. But it’s what he needs.

***

[ His panel is on last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BBION-SLtPw), moderated by the delightful Angélique Roché. He’s starting to feel the day and it’s nowhere near done.

“Thanks so much for staying till the end of the day, guys!” he says.

“You flew in to just like, hang out with the fans today,” says Angélique.

“I did. I did. I feel like a bit of a space cadet but I’m trying to stay perky and fresh for you all. It’s like half midnight in the UK.”

They talk about all sorts of things — the unspeakable things they did to his hair for Rocketman, how creatively rewarding the film was, his favourite song — he mentions “Someone Saved My Life Tonight”, again, and he hopes that these pat answers he keeps giving, these same stories he tells over and over, still seem fresh after months of reiteration, that there are enough fresh people in the audience that haven’t heard them before.

And then Angélique says, “[Today being Pride…](https://www.seattlepride.org/parade/)” and his brain stutters to a halt. Was it really? It was Pride Parade, today, in Seattle? He’s lost the thread of what on earth she actually asked but he figures it was the usual, so he stumbles through an answer, with his mind whirling.

“At the risk of getting serious, there’s questions about whether heterosexual actors should be getting gay roles…” and he stutters again, checks what he’s said, _ yes, safe, didn’t say I was straight… okay, continue… _ “I sympathise…um...to a point… I think… ah ah… I think uh… only… uh, I think actually… you know I think… that… “ and he finds himself making ridiculous noises, goddamnit, get it _ out _ already. “It’s complicated, it’s very complicated. You know I think it’s a complicated, sensitive issue and there is no clear-cut answer. But I do feel that we really… er… that we didn’t shy away from that and what was really important to us was making something that the LGBTQ community would feel a sense of ownership and pride in, um, so in that sense I don’t feel that I’ve got a lot to apologise for, in that sense… if I’m completely honest. Um, what did you ask? I’ve gotten lost in my own answer…” and Angélique laughs and assures him that he did just fine but he’s not an idiot. He makes a last ditch effort. “The movie feels very gay and I’m very proud of that.”

He talks about filming underwater — there’s a new story to tell that he hasn’t bored everyone with yet — but he then finds himself thinking on a certain blowjob in a certain shower, and he gets a bit dreamy. He tells the Elton glasses story, because it’s fresh in his mind from his chat with that woman, earlier. “He wears them when he’s doing his crossword… he’s so cute… Ooh, do you know what else I’ve got?” he says, excited.

“I was hoping you’d say the Dodgers outfit…” says Angélique.

“No, I can’t pull that off. Harry Styles looked far better in it… But I have… uh… you know the Crocodile Rock sequence from the movie… the Troubadour sign, the big blue neon Troubadour sign…Somehow… when we were filming it, Richard Madden said, he said to me, ‘You should take tha’ home, put it in yer kitchen’ and I went, ‘That’s not a bad idea, Richard,’ and I got it! It’s at home! And it’s in my kitchen! On my wall!”

“I was hoping you’d say the romper…”

“The what?”

“The overalls you were wearing…”

“Oh no, they didn’t do wonders for my bum…” Taron shakes his head at that.

“Oh, I was trying so hard not to make any bum or thigh jokes on this stage…” says Angélique — and oh god, here we go.

“It seems to creep into most conversations I have…” he says.

“[Thick thighs save lives](https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/thick-thighs-save-lives), Taron!” laughs Angélique.

“Thick thighs save lives…” he repeats and he can’t quite believe what she’s just said. What the actual hell is she on about? It’s hilarious though he’s embarrassed as all get out, sucks in air through his teeth, rubs the back of his neck with one hand and can’t help but laugh, ends up doubled over as she’s saying, “It means you have lots of endurance…” and that’s almost worse, “and I’m alright with it,” she finishes.

“It’s all about them squats,” he says.

“It also looks great in spandex,” she offers.

“Yeah, it’s true,” he says, half-mortified.

“And you wore a lot of stretchy, fitted material in that movie.”

Yeah, but that’s the problem, innit? They’re right back to where they started, so he downplays it again, calls the outfits unflattering. And then somehow, probably because he’s tired, he’s admitting things he maybe shouldn’t be.

“Don’t think anyone in my family has ever earned over $30 thousand pounds a year. I perpetually feel like a competition winner. I have nightmares about it ending, all the time. It’s just weird, it’s a weird life.” 

And then it’s time for audience questions and it's kind of bizarre — he knows almost all of them from earlier in the day.

“My name is Keiko,” says the first one.

“I know,” he says, indulgent. “I’ve met you about five times today. You alright?”

“I’m very happy!”

“And your friend is called Taiko… And I can see Peter*. Hello.” He’s dressed in the overalls from the Troubadour and he’s a little pocket rocket.

The next person asks what his favourite costume was, and he’s cheeky. “It’s not the one Peter’s wearing because he looks better in it than I did,” he says.

“I do love the orange neoprene devil outfit, which I’ve had some incredible artwork and figurines of today and I appreciate it all so much but the one thing about it is, because it’s covered in…” and he puts on a very swanky camp accent, “Swarovski crystals…”

“I’m sorry, what kind of crystals did you say?” says Angélique. Bless her, what a good straight woman for his terrible humour.

He affects the swanky toff again. “Swarovski…” Everyone laughs. “I’d never even heard of a Swarovski crystal before that. But erm, we couldn’t wash it and we shot in the summer so after about three months it really, _ really _ smelt quite bad. So it was beautiful but highly impractical.”

The next person up to the mic is Taylor from California, who thanks him for everything he’s done for the LGBTQ community, “like your post about the Russian censorship” but honestly it’s too much given the reality. “That’s very sweet of you, I don’t think I’ve done anything for the community but I appreciate what you’re saying so thank you very much.” Then she asks him to say gay rights, and _ that _ he can do, knows the meme ([saw how it went down in February with Olivia and Rachel](http://nymag.com/intelligencer/2019/02/a-brief-history-of-saying-gay-rights-online.html)) and with all the gusto he can muster, he says “Gay rights!” and sure, he knows this will be on repeat around the Internet and it’s frankly the least he can do.

She asks who his Bernie is and he says, “I know you run a bit of a fan thing for me on Instagram,” and she bursts into tears. “Ay yeah,” he says, meaning, _ you can’t pull one over on me, I know who you are. _

“That’s amazing,” says the host.

“Uh huh. So thank you for that. So you’ll see, based on my… come on now…” He can see she’s not coping… “So you’ll have seen some of my friends on my Instagram so I still have the same friends I had when I was about 15,” and now Peter is comforting Taylor… god, but he loves his fans. “So I have a group of guys who I turn to and I try and keep them very close in my life although we all live in different parts of the country. Although there’s probably not one, probably them as a collective are my close bosom buddies and I know they’re there if I need them. I have a gaggle of Bernie Taupins. Thank you.”

“I mean, do I need to introduce myself?” says Peter, cheeky.

“Hi Peter!” he says, flirting right back.

And he talks and talks and talks. He talks about his hobbies and he talks about Joni Mitchell and his love of music and he talks about creative risk, and getting emotional and about Marvel films, and even about trying to see the sights of Seattle last night and falling asleep instead. He says “one last one”, right at the end, and he feels a little bad because the very next person in line who they didn’t get to was Erin, the woman who gave him the pop doll, but they’ve got a massive crazy selfie to do and he’s still got more autographs to sign and honestly, he’s been up for 13 hours already and it’s been a very, very long day. And he really wants to get back to his hotel, say goodnight to Richard, and tell him he loves him, because that’s not only allowed again now, it’s positively _ encouraged, _and the thought of that just makes him warm down to his toes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter, as I flagged last week, threw a lot of things out of whack but I am still incredibly grateful to [Erin](https://www.instagram.com/funkorockyuppie/) for talking to me about when her photo op with Taron at ACE was, for making the incredible funko pop doll Elton in the first place, and for agreeing to be a cameo in this story. Also love you 3000 for taking the video of the moment you gave the doll to Taron, so that it could be part of this. I have no idea whether any of the other fans mentioned in this chapter are also lurkers here — if you are, thank you for being incredible too. If any of you know which instagram account Taylor runs, please let me know and I'll link it.
> 
> * Astute readers will realise that Peter's name and pronouns were different in a previous version of this fic and are different from the video of the session. After someone identified his Instagram to me, I realised that it was probably more respectful to switch from using his deadname. 
> 
> Taron really was that smooth most of the time, and really did stutter and stumble that badly over the sexuality question. I'm just the transcriber here... *shrug* but obviously, all the motivation and headcanon I'm ascribing to Taron is purely fiction.


	15. when we would lean… upon each other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brandon is still proud, even though it's July; Richard and Brandon return to Scotland; Pat Madden is a deadset legend; Richard's sisters are wicked; Taron has come up with a suggestion and it's made Richard extremely flustered; everyone descends on Glasgow for a very belated graduation.
> 
> A cold summer in Glasgow from Richard's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At almost 6000 words, this is one of my longest chapters. And that's *after* I split it in two...
> 
> Thanks as always to my lovely beta readers, [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus) and Em. You help make me a better writer. Any remaining errors are, of course, mine.
> 
> This is another one where I've been waiting to get to it, with parts of it written months ago. Richard's graduation was just such an incredible moment for him and Brandon, and all the amazing moments in the video of Brandon laughing with Richard's sister Lauren, Richard's mum running to hug Brandon, Brandon squeezing Richard's shoulders... I just adore them all and I know there have been rumours this week that they broke up, but I really, really doubt it...
> 
> This week marks six months since _Rocketman_ premiered at Cannes. This film has literally saved my life. I have an incredibly new friend in C because of it, and I just want to thank Dexter, Matthew, Taron, Richard, Jamie and of course Elton and David for making it.

July 1 comes around and Richard has to face the fact that time is a very odd beast. An entire month has passed since Rocketman got its mainstream release. July last year — where was he? [ Devon, perhaps](https://www.instagram.com/p/BlBRF6IBaGt/). He hadn’t even started principal photography on this little film with a big vision, playing a supporting role to a man he would fall rapidly in love with. He was going out with a young woman, half his age practically, who he had very little in common with apart from a love of partying. Bodyguard hadn’t yet aired. 

In the short space of a year, he’s had some kind of stratospheric change in his fortunes, fallen in love with Brandon, discovered Taron loved him back, moved to LA — not that he’s been there much — and been cast in a _ goddamned _Marvel movie. 

And here he is, wandering along a beach on the coast of Italy, hand-in-hand with this absolute angel of a man, both of them tanned and shirtless and enjoying the sun. He’s admiring the view. The sea _ and _ his man. They’re both perfect. 

“I love you, Brandon,” he says, breaking their companionable silence.

Brandon looks across at him and quirks his lips. “And I love you. Where’d that come from?”

“Just happy.”

Brandon squeezes his hand. “I’m glad.”

“Also been reminded recently it’s important to say things like that out loud from time to time.”

“I’ll make sure to thank Taron for that!” Brandon chuckles. 

They walk a little longer. Porto Cesareo is miles of golden sand and shallow turquoise water as far as the eye can see. It’s just as stunning as everything else around here. “I’ve been thinking,” says Brandon, “about Pride month, because it’s like, over, and I didn’t do anything for it. And I’m wondering if I’m a bit, like, resentful, because it’s like a Hallmark thing, like, don’t tell me when to appreciate my dad or tell my boyfriend I love him! But at the same time, do I have a responsibility to model the confidence I have, that you can be queer and proud — like, weird as it fucking is, some of these kids are looking up to me…”

“That sounds like exactly what you need to say, then,” Richard says, squinting into the sunlight at Brandon. “That you’re proud to be who you are e’en when it’s no the officially prescribed month fer it.” He drops his sunglasses back on. 

Brandon’s looking at him, curious. “Has anyone told you that you’re a smart cookie for such a handsome face, Mister Madden?”

“Och, awa’ wi’ ye,” says Richard. “You should do it right now. Make it really obvious, like you were waiting precisely till the day it was over. I’ll even drop a like on it.”

“Oh wow, I should, hey?” He grabs his phone and angles it till he gets the selfie he wants, stunner shades and his dad’s old hat, blue sky and chest — above nipples, thank you — shows it to Richard for approval and then [ posts it, with a pointed nod to the date, a heartfelt caption and the hashtag #proudallyear](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzXr9fDFSyt/). 

Richard takes his phone out and likes it on the spot, grins back at Brandon. “I am so proud of you, love. You’re so much braver than I am.”

“I’m not under the kind of global pressure you are, babe. It’s not like you’re making me hide…” He punctuates that by leaning over and kissing Richard square on the mouth. 

“You do have two million more Instagram fans than I do, love.”

“You’ve got 4.5% of your population, I’ve only got 1.5% of America. Let’s not be ridiculous here.”

“Can’t believe you actually did that maths at some point.”

“Knew you’d be an idiot about it at some point.”

“Oi, I resemble that remark!”

Brandon still has his phone out. “Aww, Taron liked my post! And so did Gemma and Jeremy… Oh, and Michael of course!” Richard looks over and Michael’s written “proud of you” with clapping hands, and he watches as Brandon replies, “I love you.”

“It’s a good post, love.” And they read the comments starting to flood in, saying exactly what they’d hoped, that Brandon being out has given people comfort that they weren’t alone, and even [ Richard’s friends commenting](https://imgur.com/a/eRObxz0) and Richard starts to wonder whether he’s doing enough. “I’m going to tell Ma about Taron,” he announces, suddenly. “Gotta start somewhere, right?”

Brandon squeezes his hand, tight. Then they lay out their towels and sit on the beach, [ scrolling through Instagram, showing each other posts](https://imgur.com/a/LbmSrfP), and he just enjoys the moment again, making the most of their last day.

Half-way through the afternoon, his phone buzzes and it’s Taron waking up in Seattle, saying _ I love you _ and _ I miss you _ and he’s on his way back to London so he’ll be incommunicado for a while. Richard sends back a photo of the sea, and _ I love you _ and _ I’m so glad you’re in my life _ and _ we’ll talk soon. _

***

Brindisi Airport is tiny — just two runways — but it’s busy at this time of year. Richard and Brandon have the armour back on, shades, regulation distance between them. It feels so alien after the holiday they’ve just had, not to mention yesterday’s discussion. 

There’s a slight gasp from someone behind them [ as they’re recognised](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/post/188810719838/tweet-x-instagram-comments-on-this-post-of) and Richard is resisting looking at Brandon and rolling his eyes. 

He’s relieved that he’s just got his hold-all this time — those big silver cases might be a necessity most of the time when he travels but they’re a pain. 

Soon enough they’re back in the loving care of British Airways and on their way to London. From there it’ll be a short hop to Glasgow, his folks, and — 12 years late but better than never — his graduation.

When they land in Glasgow, it’s a sunny 15 degrees and Brandon is looking at Richard scandalised, like he’s personally responsible for the weather. 

“It’s still summer, isn’t it? What happened?”

“Aye, it’s summer. Don’t complain — it could be raining!”

Brandon turns around to go back into the airport. “Sorry, made a mistake. Going back to Lecce!”

Richard laughs and Brandon comes back. “Brrr, though. Hold up.” He stops and retrieves their jackets from the bags, and hands Brandon his. The sky is blue and the air is crisp and it smells like home. Speaking of which, there’s his Ma waving at them next to the car, and they wave back and head over to wrap her up in a hug.

“Look at the pair o’ ye!” exclaims Pat. “How’d’ye manage to get that tanned in less than a week?”

“It were hotter than 30 degrees every day, Ma, that’s how,” says Richard.

“And we spent every day on the beach,” adds Brandon.

“That’ll do it,” says Pat, shaking her head. “Well, come on then, lads. There’s tea and scones waiting at home and they’re not going to eat themselves.”

When they get back to his parents’ place in Elderslie, he waits until they’re all settled, hot tea, scones, butter, jam and cream in front of them — it all smells absolutely delicious, and he says so. Then he says, “Ma, I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.” Pat looks immediately hopeful and he has to laugh. “No, Ma, I’m sorry. No one’s pregnant. You’d know if we were planning that — Cara or Lauren would be involved.”

At that Pat’s face goes through a variety of expressions so rapidly he can’t keep up. “That had never even occurred to me,” she says, amazed. “But it makes sense.” She pauses and looks mildly scandalised. “Hang on, does that mean you’ve discussed that with them already?”

Brandon shakes his head. “No, but we have discussed it with each other. ” He smiles fondly at Richard, and takes his hand. “You keep forgetting I have sisters too, babe…” Pat is beaming. “Give us a few years, Pat! I’m only 25!” 

“All right, all right. What did you want to tell me?”

“Oh well, now this is just weird,” complains Richard. He takes a breath, settles his nerves, squeezes Brandon’s hand. “So, clearly, Brandon and I are planning to be together for the long term. So what I’m about to say might sound strange to you.”

“Go on, love,” says Pat, looking between them.

“Brandon and I have an open relationship. Normally, that’s not something you’d ever need to know about, but I’m in love with someone, and it’s serious.”

“Good gracious, boy. And you’re fine with this?” she says to Brandon.

“I am, Pat. It was my idea…” says Brandon. “Richard made it very clear to me when we met that he was in love with someone else, but he thought they had no chance. I didn’t want to lose him, and I said that even if this guy came to his senses, I’d still be around.”

“So it’s another man, then.”

“Yes, Ma, sorry, I’m not trying to be coy. It’s Taron.”

She stares at him for a moment, sips her tea, and carefully puts the cup back into its saucer. “Well, that explains many things, my darling.” She takes another sip of tea. “No one can say you don’t have good taste in men! And I already like him, so that’s a bonus. Hmmm. I don’t want to say the wrong thing here…”

“It’s okay,” says Richard. “I know it’s a lot.”

“Is there some exposé coming out that’s made you tell me now?”

“No, Ma, nothing like that. I know that’s a risk — the media’s having a field day just seeing me in what they think is a monogamous relationship with one man; I can just imagine what they’d do with _ this_. We’re not planning any grand gestures, you needn’t worry about that.”

“Well. I can’t say I understand why you need anyone else when Brandon is so wonderful but it’s not for me to judge. So long as you’re all _ happy_. Now, I need to get supper on before your father gets home… You get your things settled, you’re in the spare room, bed’s made up already.” And she bustles off in the kitchen.

“You okay, sweetheart?” asks Brandon.

“Yeah,” sighs Richard. “It’s just… uncomfortable. Coming out. Coming out over and over. New things to come out about. And I wish there was no scandal about any of it. Why should there be scandal about love? We’re all consenting adults.”

“I know.” Brandon leans over to him, kisses his cheek. “But your mom’s lovely and she loves you and it’ll be fine. I’m proud of you.”

Richard takes Brandon’s jaw in his fingertips, gently moves him in and kisses him back, full on the mouth, gentle but firm. “Thank you for inspiring me.”

And then he texts Taron: _ Ma says hi and says I have good taste in men. _

And Taron writes back, _ You told her???? _And more heart eyes emojis than he’s ever seen in one text before. 

***

The next day is Wednesday, but Pat has somehow arranged a big family lunch to welcome home their errant son and celebrate his success. It’s the first time Brandon will be meeting Richard’s sisters and the first time his old mate Cheryl Caligari, who used to do PR for him when he was in Game of Thrones and has been a friend ever since, will be seeing his mum in probably five years. Andrew Hagan and Finn den Hertog — who’s also an RCS alumnus — will be dropping in after lunch. It’s like a mini-reunion, and Richard’s excited.

Brandon and Richard are both roped into ferrying plates piled high with salads and roast vegetables and the enormous roast lamb that smells absolutely incredible, and Richard is so tempted to steal some like he used to as a boy. He is deeply grateful he’s not on a training schedule for a film right now, or he wouldn’t be able to have any of it. 

Cara’s children are running around the lounge room squealing and Cara’s husband is trying to round them up to come to the table and when Richard goes back in carrying a jug of lemon cordial, Brandon is laughing with Lauren and he kinda knew that was going to happen. He can only hope they don’t gang up on him — he’s not sure he’d be able to defend himself against that much cuteness. His mum comes in and puts her hand on both of their shoulders and shepherds everyone towards the food. For a moment, standing there watching Brandon in the middle of his family, it feels so easy; he can feel the tears prickle at the back of his eyes. Pat looks up and she smiles at him, proud of him. 

“Richard, will you please carve for us, son? Guest of honour and all that!” says Dick, handing over the knife. Richard grins at his dad, and carves the meat, piles it onto the plate next to him. Andrew comes up and claps him on the back.

“I see I’ve made it just in time, old man!”

“Andrew! So glad to see you, mate.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He steals a piece of lamb, and then talks with his mouth full. “Oh lord, Mrs Madden, this is divine!”

“Honestly, Andrew, manners!” Cara laughs at them.

“Nothing ever changes, does it?” says Cheryl. “Can I get anyone a glass of wine?” she asks, popping an actual cork and pouring herself one.

The adults all start to fill their plates and Cara fills two for the kids. There’s not enough room at the table for everyone, so Brandon, Lauren and Cheryl set themselves up on the couches with plates balanced on knees, and soon the room is filled with noises of happy eating and companionable chatter. 

It’s far too soon that they have to wrap things up so they can get to the Royal Conservatoire on time — he’s due there at 4.30 for a rehearsal for tomorrow’s ceremony, followed by a talk to the students. It’s still not exactly warm — well, not after Italy — so he grabs his favourite tan suede jacket and pulls it on over his all-black ensemble then heads over to Brandon and kisses him goodbye, to audible ‘awwws’ from his sisters. He isn’t sure any more _ at all _of the wisdom of letting them and his dad take Brandon out to dinner while he and Cheryl and Mum go to the talk. 

In the car on the way there, he looks back at Cheryl and says, “So, absolutely secrecy, love, but in a few weeks, there’ll be a big announcement at San Diego Comic Con. How would you feel about reuniting Team Madden?”

“Wait, what are we talking about here? How big?”

“The biggest.”

“Oh. My. God. Richard No-Middle-Name Madden. Are you a superhero?”

Pat laughs from the driver’s seat.

“Can’t say,” says Richard, “Signed NDAs that will result in my immediate death by interstellar targeted laser beam if I break them…”

“Oh my god, you _ are_!” she says. “You’re in a fucking Marvel movie. Or you’re James Bond.”

“Not James Bond,” he says. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” he asks his mum.

“We all miss Sean Connery, love. It’s just wishful thinking.”

“In answer to your question, though,” says Cheryl, “if you’re asking will I come and do personal PR for you so that you don’t get swallowed up in the juggernaut, let’s talk properly when you’re back in London. Will you be back in London?”

“Yeah, we’ll be filming at Pinewood from October, probably. 

“Oh. My. God,” says Cheryl again, and then, “Wait, are we going to see you in spandex?” and Richard just smirks.

They’re in the city centre walking from the car to the Conservatoire when [ he’s pretty sure they’re papped](https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-7210955/Richard-Madden-steps-mother-Pat-Glasgow.html), although judging by the outfit and the quality of the guy’s gear, he’s probably just from the local newspaper. He’s impressed with Cheryl’s ‘cap-and-duck’ game and tells her so. “Years and years of practice, hon. I’m not the talent…”

The rehearsal goes smoothly enough and he meets the Director of External Relations, Jeanette, who walks him through the media plans. Then it’s 5.30pm, and he’s on stage in the old hall where they used to do performances and that feels both odd and lovely. 

He shakes hands with Joyce Deans, Head of Acting — he wonders if anyone from his days is still around, or if it’s all going to be new faces? They take their seats and the auditorium starts to fill with excited students. 

They cover everything he expected. He committed from the start to be absolutely honest with them on the proviso that the session wasn’t filmed. It’s just for them — a private audience. So he is — he’s honest [ about the industry and life as a working actor](https://twitter.com/starpenders__/status/1146561314082439169). He talks about going to [ a brilliant youth theatre](https://twitter.com/jeanmcameron/status/1146473681033551873), Pace Youth Theatre, when he was 11 and how that set him up for the next phase of his career. 

He talks about drive and commitment and hard work. “If you've got a strength, [ you've got to pursue it ](https://twitter.com/RCStweets/status/1146491717044121600) and make the most out of it,” he says.

When it’s over at last, there’s a slightly odd sideways handshake with Joyce and he thanks the audience, nervously runs his sweaty hands down his trousers and he cannot wait to get to the restaurant where Brandon is waiting for them with his sisters. He hangs back and takes selfies with the students, though, listens and offers what advice he can to the introverts who’ve waited to ask their questions out of the judging space of the main floor. 

Finally, _ finally_, he makes it out and down to [ The Red Onion](http://www.red-onion.co.uk/index.php/menus/a-la-carte), which comes highly recommended by Cara, who was apparently outraged that Richard failed to force-feed haggis to Brandon when he was there in January. It doesn’t matter how often Richard explains that they can’t guarantee the haggis is kosher — it turns out she’s called ahead and Red Onion swears there’s only sheep in theirs. They’ve had drinks and appetisers but they’ve been waiting for Richard for the main game. Brandon’s explained that the blood pudding is absolutely not kosher, so they’ve served the haggis on a separate plate for him. He looks at Richard mock-pleading for him to rescue him but Richard has no mercy for this one. “This is what happens when you befriend my sisters, love. Don’t worry, I’ll finish it if you hate it.” 

Brandon diligently takes a bite and chews it, swallows. “Huh,” he says.

“Surprisingly not bad, right?” says Cara.

“That’s got to be the faintest praise in history, but yeah.” He takes another bite. Richard tries not to laugh at the face he’s pulling. “Okay, now am I allowed to order that duck that looks incredible?”

The rest of the meal goes smoothly; the food is delicious, the wine is good and eventually they have to call it a night because Cara’s babysitter has to get home at a reasonable hour. Besides, tomorrow is the big day.

Richard can’t sleep though, so he sneaks out to the porch for a smoke and texts Taron. 

_ 10.50pm: I know we already said goodnight but are you up for a natter? _

**10.51pm: Absolutely. Just reading. You call me?**

He smiles and presses Taron’s name, watches as the screen is taken over with the photo of them together in New York, the day before the Met Gala. He puts the phone to his ear as Taron picks up. 

“Hey, gorgeous. Nerves?”

“You know me far too well,” says Richard. 

“You’re going to smash it, _ cariad_.”

“I miss you. Wish you could be here.”

“Me too. But I’m so jetlagged, love. How was your day?”

“Lovely. Lauren and Brandon are getting on like a house on fire, and Ma’s planning grandkids.”

“Ha!” Taron laughs then stops abruptly. “I’m just imagining children mixing your genes with Brandon’s. They’re going to be models, the lot of them.”

“Flattery’ll get you everywhere, sweetheart.”

“So…” Taron says, coy. “That was a long flight with no Wi-Fi and I had lots of time to think… but this is the first time we’ve spoken…”

Richard immediately knows what Taron is referring to and his heart starts beating faster. He sits forward and stubs out his cigarette. 

“Tell me,” he breathes. 

“I want to give you choices but I want you to make the final decision. So it’s your instructions.”

“Yes.”

“I want it to be about putting on my bracelet for you every morning. I mean some nights I don’t want to take it off but I think there’s something about putting it on consciously every morning, actively choosing to be yours every day.”

“God, yes. _ Taron.” _

“I thought about saying something out loud for you, but I don’t think I can. What if I’m in a trailer on a shoot or it’s a hotel room with an adjoining door?”

“That’s fair. So what did you come up with?”

Taron’s voice drops to a whisper. “I want to kneel for you.”

Richard is suddenly breathing very heavily and all the blood in his body has pooled in his cock so fast he’s light-headed. “Yes,” he growls. “_God_, I want you to do that now. _ Mine_. My boy.” He grips the porch rail. Takes a deep breath. “But also god, I know you need to stay you for this conversation.” Another deep breath. “Give me a moment?”

“Yes, Richard. _ Yours_. And also me, making this choice. I’m here.”

“_Fuck._” They stay silent for a moment and listen to each other breathe. “Okay,” he says eventually. “Go on.”

“Everything else felt a little foolish, so I wanted to leave you the choice. Or if you had something you wanted me to do. I thought about kissing the bracelet before I put it on, or, I don’t know, counting the beads and saying _ Richard loves me _in my head for each one…”

“My blasphemous boy. Kinky.”

“So not that one, then?” He’s smiling, Richard can tell. 

“Let’s work this through, love. You’re kneeling for me. Naked. Wherever you are.”

“Yeah, next to the bed if I’m home or alone. In the bathroom if I have to.”

“Legs spread slightly.” He breathes in, deep. _ God_, the vision in his _ head_. “And you’ll put the bracelet in front of you on the floor. Between your knees. Put your hands on your thighs. And you’ll centre yourself, clear your mind of anything but my love for you. That you’re on your knees _ for me_. _ My boy_.” God, he sounds possessive and wild and he’s worried it’s too much, but Taron is breathing in deep on the other end of the phone.

“Yes, Richard. _ Please. _ ” Richard’s cock is pulsing, throbbing. _ Jesus. _

“And you pick up the bracelet in your left hand and you’ll put it on your right wrist. And you’ll think, _ This is my gift from Richard, as a symbol and reminder that he loves me…” _ says Richard.

“_…that I’m choosing to be his, and trust him to take care of me today, _” adds Taron.

“_Oh my god._” Richard’s heart is going to burst.

“Too much?”

“No, it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect, love.”

“Thank you,” says Taron, “for giving me this. For understanding that I need it.” And Richard can just imagine him, his eyes lowered, head ducked, those incredible green eyes looking at him from under those incredible lashes.

“I wish I could see you doing it. I wish — maybe sometimes you could set up FaceTime for me and I can watch.”

“I could do that. And I can send you a photo of my wrist every day, with the bracelet on, so you know I’ve done it.”

“Like, obviously if there’s a day you don’t feel like it…”

“I’ll tell you, and we’ll talk about it.”

“You’re spectacular, T. Such a good boy for me. Do you… need anything else? Tonight?”

“I’m all good, my darling. This isn’t exactly sexual for me. I just feel warm and loved and happy. You?”

“I’m horny as fuck, but I’m standing on my parents’ porch, my nephews are in my old room, Brandon’s in the spare room and Cara and her husband are in her and Lauren’s old room. So not much I can do about it unless I go have a wank in the shower. Hmmm…”

Taron laughs again, light. “You enjoy that, then, love.”

“It doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”

“That thinking of me on my knees turns you on? No, it’s incredibly flattering. But you go have fun. Talk in the morning. I love you.”

“I love you, my boy. More than I can say.”

***

In the morning, Taron texts him a pic of the bracelet on his wrist and the word, _ yours_, before he even texts good morning and Richard needs another fucking shower, stat. He briefly ponders waking Brandon on the basis of the old adage that it doesn’t matter where you get your appetite, but quickly figures this is the wrong energy for the man, and resigns himself to texting Taron back, _ mine _ and _ good morning love. I’m feeling happy and also very possessive this morning. How are you? _

And Taron texts back, _ loved. _

They bustle around getting everyone ready and it might only be a half hour drive but Richard’s been ready for an hour and he’s starting to get antsy. Brandon and Cara are fiddling around exchanging social media details and following each other.

“Come on!” he tells his little sister for the third time, and Lauren scowls at him, finishing her mascara. 

“Don’t panic, Little Dick, they’ll have a special place for you to get your gown… it’s not like you’ll have to queue!”

“Call me that in front of anyone today and I will tell any journalist who’ll listen about your mutilated Barbies…”

Brandon laughs at both of them. 

In the car on the way, Taron texts, “break a leg!” and that helps. Then they’re there, and there’s no going back. 

“Oh my, [ I’m on the bloody wall](https://twitter.com/janetteharkess/status/1146788422767525891)!” he exclaims, as they’re walking down the corridor towards the hall. “That’ll actually be accurate in an hour,” he quips. There’s a series of framed photographs of all the famous alumni, and there he is, baby-face framed with auburn curls, and underneath his name it says ‘graduate’. He wonders whether technically he’s a graduate even if he didn’t attend his graduation ceremony. Ah well, it will be a moot point soon. Naturally, the PR woman — Jeanette? Why can’t he remember her name? — wants to stop for a photo of it now, so he obliges. He takes a snap himself and texts it to Taron. _ Bloody bizarre. Bet you’re on the wall at RADA now too. How weird is that? _

And then they’re filing into the room, just like the rehearsal, in all their finery, and this is actually about to happen. He feels his nerves come up, butterflies in his stomach, jittery. And then he looks out into the audience, and there in the second row are all of his crew — his Mum, his Dad, his friend Finn, his sister Lauren, Brandon, Cheryl, his friend Andrew, his sister Cara, and Cara’s husband. He catches Brandon’s eye, and calm descends.

There’s something that happens every time Richard looks at Brandon. It doesn’t matter where they are. [ This time, he’s on a stage, getting an honorary doctorate](https://youtu.be/Q0M1y2n7VKQ?t=4202) and his face just breaks into that smile that he always wears when Brandon’s looking at him like that, and he just can’t believe how _ lucky _ he is to have this man love him and support him. He _ beams _ at him. _ Thank you. For everything. _ And [ Brandon is gazing straight back, so proud](https://www.girlfriend.com.au/brandon-flynn-cheering-on-richard-madden-at-his-graduation). It makes Richard’s heart burst with it, to be able to share this with his man.

It’s a good thing, because otherwise he’d lose it completely when Principal Jeffrey Sharkey starts talking about “a truly outstanding contribution” because honestly, he can’t be talking about _ Richard_? And it just keeps on going — the praise and the disbelief; the pomp and the ceremony — everyone’s in robes and archaic garb, and there’s a _ sceptre_, for goodness’ sake. Richard has to stand and listen to the address from Professor Hugh Hodgart, directly to him, and some of the first words the man says are “the exceptional achievement of one of our own”. 

“Will he be the next James Bond? A Bond Boy for the first female 007? A Marvel superhero? Will he be the only man who can avert the Brexit disaster? Well, somebody has to do it!” He’s actually very good, this bloke. Now he’s talking about the need for fiction in troubled times and calling David Budd an anti-hero. Richard’s almost lulled into a sense of comfort when he hears the man say, “and of course, Richard’s bare bottom”. Wait, what? His _ mother_’_s _ in the audience! Everybody laughs, and Richard’s blushing to the roots of his hair, has to laugh with them all of course, and the man has the decency to look at least slightly chagrined. “Richard,” he says, smiling broadly and holding up a hand in a gesture of amused contrition, “we are so thrilled…” But he and the room are laughing too much, and he says, “I shall move swiftly on…” He laughs again and Richard looks out at the audience nervously, bounces on his feet, “… to be able to see this moment and celebrate your great success.”

He goes on to talk about the pressures of the job — the price to be paid for celebrity — and quotes Richard’s own words back at him about the toll of playing Budd — then talks about how Richard fulfilled his contractual obligations “with grace and wit and good humour” and Richard’s honesty about the pressure to conform to prescribed body type and “your own reaction to unlooked-for celebrity”. He talks about how far he has come, from being bullied as ‘the fat boy’ and Richard nods and shrugs, and then weirdly ‘to the much admired and let’s be frank, lusted after’ — good god, man, this is easily weirder than reading [ ‘thirst tweets’ out for American web sites](https://youtu.be/feFQ6mAPvz8). He throws his head back and laughs out loud for that one and then exchanges glances with Brandon, and that was possibly a bad idea, because the bastard winks at him. Then it’s the formal bit and he can see his Mum is filming on her phone and Brandon’s applauding, and when the Principal says “I now invite _ Doctor _ Richard Madden to respond,” Richard’s eyebrows go straight up to the ceiling and he laughs and knocks his rolled-up testamur against his hand a few times. This is _ surreal_.

He goes up to the podium with his note cards. He’s genuinely so moved. “It’s a real privilege for me to be here today,” he begins. “So thank you so much to the Conservatoire for having me. And to everyone who’s graduating today for allowing me to share this day with you guys.”

There’s a sign interpreter, the thing is bloody well being live-streamed. He’s emotional, and when he’s emotional he goes all stiff — he can feel it. Nothing for it though; just have to push through, he tells himself sternly.

“I… I missed my graduation because I was fortunate enough to be working. So it feels particularly special for me to be here today, it feels like I’m finally graduating, albeit 12 years late. One of the reasons I applied to study here is because of how you were described as a student in the acting course. It said I would be ‘an actor in training’ not just a drama student. So before I even walked through the doors, I was an actor and I would be an actor while I was here and I would hopefully go on being an actor after I graduated. The Conservatoire gave me the confidence to call myself an actor. It gave me a place to study my craft; it gave me the skills and encouragement to go out in the world and be the best I could possibly be, to achieve what I wanted and set out to do.” 

He stumbles a bit, rambles a little. Finally gets back on track. 

“I’ll be forever thankful and grateful and proud that I studied here and I’m even more proud and humbled that this place that gave me so much continues to support me and I am truly honoured to receive this accolade today. True to what the Conservatoire promised at the beginning, I was an actor in training. And even though I’m graduating today, I feel like I always will be. And I’m happy to carry on being an actor in training.” He can’t help but chuckle, then, and play on that text Taron sent him. “Except for now you have to call me _ Doctor_.” They all laugh, on cue. “Thank you very, very much,” he says.

They take their seats in the audience for the performance — he’s directly in front of Brandon, [ who leans over the seat and puts both hands on his shoulders, squeezes reassuringly](https://twitter.com/branrich2019/status/1146780833866493953?lang=en) and whispers _ well done_.

Then he has to return to the big seats in front of everyone for the relative tedium of calling out the names of all the other graduands (and the bizarre ritual of bopping them on the head with a floppy hat), and more speeches — although the line about filling the blank canvas with a kaleidoscope of ideas was quite nice — and then it’s all over and there’s bagpipes and organ music as the graduands all file out.He files out ahead of the faculty and lingers near the door. He can just see Brandon on the other side of it, waiting — he’s not sure for what — and then [ his mum runs up to Brandon and he puts his arm around her and she hugs him tight](https://imgur.com/a/ru6HKGt), and they reach him still holding each other and it just warms his soul.

Outside, there’s press, and he can’t stop grinning for the [ photos](https://www.glasgowlive.co.uk/news/glasgow-news/bodyguard-star-richard-madden-receives-16532644.amp), the joy just bubbling out of him. The whole class gathers on the steps for group shots with him in the middle and he laughs and fist pumps the air with the rest of them. Then, god help him, [ they all burst into _ Loch Lomond_](https://twitter.com/heraldscotland/status/1146801019495563264) and he is not subjecting anyone to his terrible singing, _ not _ today, so he just smiles broadly at them all, deeply content. 

“Doctor of Drama, eh?” smirks Brandon, when they’re finally alone again. “Pity there wasn’t a mortarboard… we could’ve had some fun with you wearing nothing but that, _ doctor_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland for putting the graduation videos on their web site and for the incredible speech in Richard's honour. Yes, that whole thing is verbatim. Also thanks to the folks at Datalounge and then Tapatalk for their extensive threads on where Brandon and Richard were and when. It makes my life a lot easier. It was also fun tracking down new people like Cheryl Caligari, and sorry that I didn't realise you actually spent Richard's birthday with him this year, or you would have had a mention back in that chapter...
> 
> And finally, thanks to everyone who comments each week. You really make this whole project worthwhile. I love you all.


	16. of days gone by

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taron settles into his new routine; Elton is unimpressed; Taron goes to dinner with the Furnish-Johns, and guests; Elton bestows a drag name; Richard is filming 1917 and has a chat with Colin Firth; Taron gets a call from Cliff Joannou; Taron has interesting dreams; and finally, Taron plays Fortnite live on air — they'd better have paid him a lot of money for that.
> 
> Everything is going much better from Taron's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that almost didn't exist. It's hard for me to believe it now, but Chapters 15 and what is now 17 were some epic Maddlynn fest from the graduation to Portugal and back to West Hollywood because as far as I could tell from the Instagram timeline, Taron hadn't done much.
> 
> And then I remembered the weird Microsoft thing and worked out he'd *deleted it from his Instagram* and then even more importantly, I remembered I was *writing fiction* and so I could make up whatever I wanted him to do that progressed the story.
> 
> Thank you as ever to [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus) for listening to me break down what bits of chapter could go where until I worked it out; for, believe it or not, discussing the linguistic distribution of Scots Gaelic and Welsh; for letting me be stubborn about calling Benedict Cumberbatch 'Ben' and for generally being a cheerleader and supporter beyond the call of duty. 
> 
> Thanks also so much to Em, who talked with me about Star Wars nerdery and our own mental health over the decade-plus that we've known each other, and what works and how important friends are, and check-ins. I love you 3000.
> 
> Thank you, Taron, for the audiobook of _Me_. Your voice and that book are incredible. Your impressions of John Lennon and Donatella Versace... I love your work.
> 
> Enough rambling. Onwards!

Taron gets out of bed, eager to start his day. He shucks his boxer briefs, and throws them towards the hamper, and kneels on the floor next to his bed. Immediately, he feels a sense of peace settle into him — he knows what he’s meant to be doing and there’s no decisions to be made, no worries or uncertainty.

He spreads his thighs slightly apart, takes the bracelet off and places it on the floor between his knees, then places his palms down, one on each thick upper limb, fingers spread. He breathes in deep, thinking back to his early exercises at RADA, relaxing, clearing his mind. He breathes out, letting all the cares in the world go with it. He breathes in again and thinks of Richard, his smile, his hand on the back of Taron’s neck. His voice, saying, _ I love you_. He thinks, _ I am kneeling here for Richard Madden, my lover, because I offered this to him and he loves me. _ He is suffused with a sense of deep well-being and he finds that he’s smiling broadly. _ Kinky yoga_, he thinks to himself, and almost laughs. He picks up the bracelet, and puts it on, reciting the words they agreed on just two nights ago — but this already feels like something sacred. _ This is my gift from Richard, as a symbol and reminder that he loves me. I choose to be his, and trust him to take care of me today. _

It’s ridiculous how this five-minute thing just centres him. He gets up, grabs his phone from the side table and takes a photo of his wrist. He sends _ Good morning! _ to Richard and then the photo, along with _ I love you. It’s a magnificent morning to be yours, Doctor Madden. I’m going for a run. _

He changes into his gear — [vest, running shorts, sneakers, cap, sunglasses](https://fyeahegerton.tumblr.com/post/186091220671/taron-egertons-instagram-story-5-july-2019) — and heads out, feeling confident and connected. He’s got his headphones in, and his running mix starts him with Joni and works him up to Bowie. Alexandra Park is right there, green and inviting. The sky is blue, the sun is out and it’s not outrageously hot _ yet_.

As he runs, he starts to plan his day — _ Dark Crystal _ has wrapped but he’s got more of Elton’s autobiography to record. He should probably sort through his email — he’s been a bit haphazard about it. Come to think of it, he’s been a bit haphazard about a lot of things recently. He resolves to spend a day clearing things out — sorting through his papers, setting up his office space a bit, ready for a new week, a fresh start.

He stops at one of those exercise pods and does 10 minutes of lunges and squats, drinks half his water and checks his phone. Richard has texted back, _ love you, my beautiful boy. Talk tonight? _ He replies in the affirmative and sets off again. 

When he gets home and into the shower, the hot water sluicing down his body feels incredible. He reaches for a minty body wash and sings something mindlessly before realising it’s Kings of Leon, and then he belts it out. He washes his pecs, his abs, his hips, and enjoys the slight feeling of exertion that’s in his muscles. He reaches behind him to wash his arse before he remembers it’s the minty stuff he’s got and rinses his hands off, and grabs a plain soap instead. That was close!

He’s towelled off, eaten breakfast and settled into the office by 9am and he’s well pleased with himself. 

He’s a good way through tidying papers when he finds a box of old photographs from 2008–2009. Last year of high school, first year at RADA. God, they all look so bloody young: Calvin and Bleddyn and him, Tom Sansbury with really short hair, and then him and Jordan at RADA.

There’s an absolutely gorgeous one of him and Bleddyn and Tom. Tom looking dreamy off into the distance and Bleddyn skinny, with that floppy hair he had, and Taron looking down, not pimply or splotchy like he does in half the others, but like a benevolent angel blessing the other two. It makes him feel massively nostalgic, all of a sudden, and he takes a snap of it on his camera and posts it to Instagram, tags the boys. [ 11 bloody years ago — can you believe it?](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bzh3vE7lldL/) Mates forever. And he adds that, just to let them both know how much they mean to him.

He sends one of his RADA headshot to Richard, with “would you have looked at me twice, if we’d met then?” and Richard comes back instantly with “I would have fallen for you in any timeline, darling” and he’s a bloody sap but gosh that’s nice to hear. He labels the box better, and puts it back on the shelf, and keeps tidying.

His phone rings, around midday. Silent number so he has a pretty good guess who it’s going to be. 

“’Allo,” says Elton’s broad imitation of a cockney. 

“’Allo,” says Taron back, chirpy. “How’s tricks, old fruit?”

“Well, that answers one question,” says Elton. “You’re doing _ much _ better. I’m quite cranky with you.”

“Oh?” splutters Taron. What’s Elton talking about?

“When you’re suicidally depressed at a music festival and Elton Fucking John texts you, worried about you, you’re supposed to text back.” 

“Oh,” says Taron, a tad chagrined. Elton doesn’t sound actually angry but he’s not mucking around either. 

“Yes, ‘oh’. Thankfully, Richard’s filled me in.”

“Oh. That’s a bit emb…”

“No, sweetheart, it would have been embarrassing if I’d rung Lizzo and asked her to come and find you and make you phone me.” 

“Ah, yeah…”

“Don’t do that to me again. I’m fully aware you probably thought you weren’t worth enough for little old me to bother with but I _ want _ you to bother me in future? Got it?”

“100%. Sorry, Elton.”

“Do we still need to talk about it?”

“Nah, got it sorted, I reckon. Thanks though.”

“Right, then,” says Elton cheerfully. “Dinner at mine tomorrow night? I’ll invite some people. It’ll be lovely.”

“Sure,” laughs Taron, back on safe ground — and when had accepting a dinner party invite from Elton John become the safe option? “I’ll be there.”

“Good. 7pm sharp. Ta ta!” And the Big Man hangs up. 

Well, then. That’s as good a reminder as any that he’s due in the studio after lunch, working on the chapter of [ _ Me_](https://www.audible.com.au/pd/Me-Audiobook/1529010314) that’s about losing it sufficiently that Elton once asked his management to fix the wind outside his hotel window. Taron briefly wonders if he’s going to be able to keep a straight face for this one. He [ knows his laughter is coming through the recording some sessions](https://taronunwin.tumblr.com/post/188480419290/a-few-instances-of-taron-chuckling-through) but Elton’s said he thinks it’s fabulous so that’s what counts. 

He puts in a solid four hours and breaks for dinner. According to Richard’s text, he and Brandon have left Elderslie now and are on their way to some picturesque location for Dickie to do [ some pick-up shots at a castle with Colin Firth and Ben Cumberbatch](https://twitter.com/freddiesroger/status/1147948094094528512?s=20) for _ 1917_. 

When they talk, later, he’s tucked up in bed, listening to Richard talk about Sam Mendes as a director, the grand vision for this film and the logistics of these four-hour takes, the sheer magnitude of the coordination required to pace everything perfectly and hit their marks, and Taron tells him to say hi to Colin for him, and then talks about Elton and a stadium full of people chanting dirty ditties about him liking it up the arse and how surreal the man’s life has been, and while he wants so much for Richard to be right there, to kiss goodnight, he can do this, tethered through the ether, Scottish rumble in his ear, saying _ sweet dreams, my darling_, as he drifts off. 

***

“People” turns out to be David Walliams, who Taron’s met before through Elton and David, Ezra Koenig from Vampire Weekend and Ezra’s partner Rashida Jones, who’s also an actress. Ezra just recorded one of [ Elton’s Rocket Hour things for Apple](https://music.apple.com/au/station/ezra-from-vampire-weekend/ra.1471679586).

It means conversation is a little more toned down — Elton may have declared _ Father of the Bride _ the album of the year but Ezra and Rashida aren’t inner circle. Taron has to admit he didn’t manage to see Vampire Weekend at Glasto — they headlined Sunday night and by then he was already in Seattle. They’ve still got a lot to talk about: music and acting and LA, the next season of Britain’s Got Talent and book launches. And film launches — it’s the Lion King premiere next week, does Taron want to invite his sisters? Are you kidding? [ They’d be absolutely stoked. ](https://twitter.com/justegerton/status/1150504166223175680)

Dinner is served and it’s vegan on account of Ezra, quite incredible though, a carrot turmeric soup and a beetroot and quinoa thing with a pastry and a delicate glaze. 

Ezra and Rashida beg off early claiming jetlag, and so the four of them retire to the lounge room, with a large jug of ginger beer with lemon and mint, and an incredible almond and orange slice creation that David Walliams brought with him.

“Your co-star’s looking quite dishy in those graduation snaps, isn’t he?” starts Walliams, “I do love a man in a gown and that blue _ really _ brought out his eyes…”

“You’re incorrigible, Esther,” says Elton, with a glance at Taron, who shrugs and indicates he’s fine. “He’s taken…”

“Oh, I know, Sharon, I _ saw _ him making eyes at his American twink…” Taron bursts out laughing at that, and David looks over at him. “What?” he says, faux-innocent, gesturing camply to himself. “What did I do?”

“I so want to tell Brandon you said that, but I’d like to live to see next week,” says Taron. “Also, Richard doesn’t have time for a third lover…” he adds airily, and winks at Walliams.

Now it’s Elton and David Furnish’s turn to laugh.

“Touché, Taron,” says David. 

Walliams is gaping at him. “If you’re saying what I think you are, darling, welcome to the club.”

“Oh, I definitely am. And thank you.” He sips his drink, and takes a bite of the slice. “Out of interest, which club in particular?”

“I don’t like to label, really,” says Walliams. “I think the one I didn’t mind too much was ‘pansexual’? Makes me think of a being a horny little satyr… but my bottom line — pun intended, darling — is that I don’t care what genitals you have, [ I fall in love with people’s _ minds_](https://www.ladbible.com/more/celebrity-david-walliams-opens-up-about-his-sexual-preferences-20170416).”

“Yeah, that sounds a little familiar…” He’s not really willing to discuss that one further right now. “Hey, does everyone get a drag name? I want one too.”

“Oooh, yes,” says Elton. “My favourite game. Let’s see. Stand up.” Taron stands and poses for Elton, hands on his hips. “Something Welsh. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” laughs Taron.

“What’s a Welsh flower?” asks David.

“Well, flower in Welsh is _ blodyn_,” says Taron.

“Right, then,” says Elton. “Blodwyn — that sounds Welsh and girly, like Arwen in Lord of the Rings.”

“Where did Esther come from?” he asks Walliams. 

“That’s also from these two,” says Walliams, “[Esther Walliams after Esther Williams, the Olympic swimmer](https://issuu.com/stephanierafanelli/docs/2015_artists_website_latest).”

“Because David swam the channel, didn’t you, love?”

“And the Strait of Gibraltar. And the Thames. It’s possible I’m not in my right mind half the time.”

“You need a surname, Blodwyn,” muses Elton. “You like camping, maybe Blodwyn Camper. No, wait! Inspiration strikes! You’ve got that van you run around the countryside in. It’s perfect.”

He stands up and grandly takes Taron’s hand, and kisses the back of it, then turns to the others and announces triumphantly. “[Ladies, may I present to you, Blodwyn Campervan](https://ew.com/movies/2019/11/03/rocketman-taron-egerton-drag-name-elton-john/)!” And both of them applaud as Taron curtsies and feigns shyness.

The night winds down eventually, and as Taron’s leaving, Elton says, “Next time, we need the three of you, yes?” and Taron smiles wistfully. 

“I’ll be happy if we can just be in the same city for more than a day, Elton.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I’ve gotten better at long distance over the years. Happy to give you tips if you like. I used to just kind of kidnap them and whisk them away from their lives… but you know that.”

“I do. Almost done recording, by the way.”

“Can’t wait to hear it. OK, off you pop. I’m supposed to be in Italy tomorrow for a gig and I need my beauty sleep. I will see _ you _ on Sunday for Lion King.” Taron kisses Elton on the cheek, and then he’s out in the warm evening air, sober and very chuffed. 

_ Blodwyn Campervan_. What a hoot! He texts Richard about his new identity, and they end up chatting all through the cab ride home, up to his room, and until he falls asleep.

***

Monday is more of the same, and it’s good. He kneels and breathes, he texts Richard, he does cardio, he goes to work. He talks with his agent about potential new projects, says yes to meeting with one director, a flat no to another suggesting a predictable move that would box him in. He confirms the Lion King premiere with PR after checking in with his mam (the girls are, as predicted, over the moon). He confirms details for this bizarre Microsoft store live gaming thing he’s doing on Friday — it sounds very weird but they’re paying a lot and the Star Wars fanboy in him honestly was sold the moment they told him John Boyega was going to be there too. He begrudgingly agrees to [ post a promo for it on his Instagram](https://www.facebook.com/TaronEgertonUniverse/photos/pcb.834977516888736/834976343555520/?type=3&theater) (he can always delete it later). He confirms he’ll be at Elton’s fundraiser in Antibes.

He emails Heidi, Richard’s PR woman, with the new events. She must know what’s going on by now but she just writes back saying thanks and confirming Richard’s arrival time in San Diego, and it’s only 11 more days but it feels like forever. She also sends his updated schedule, and he’s got Eternals commitments that mean he can’t make the AIDS Foundation gala, and honestly Taron knew that was coming, but he flicks Richard a quick text to remind him to send Elton a personal apology and a donation.

There’s a bunch of media requests and journalists to call back. May as well get those over with. They’re mostly predictable, and he replies setting up times with some, calls others he knows directly. One turns out not to be just an interview and immediately after he hangs up, he has to take a moment. And then he daydreams, about possibilities and a different kind of world. 

After that, he calls Richard. 

“Hey, love. I just got a call from [Cliff Joannou](https://www.instagram.com/p/B1jgiQ8l91s/)…” begins Taron. 

“From _ Attitude_?”

“Yeah. I’m nominated for an award for their thing in October.”

“That’s fabulous, love. Congratulations!”

“I’ve been thinking… about the speech. If I win.” Taron pauses, for longer than is strictly comfortable, trying to work out how to phrase this. 

“What about it, love?”

“That it might be a good time to subtly come out. In a coded way. That tells the community…”

“Big decision,” interrupts Richard. Is he being critical? Cautious? Is he projecting? Taron’s not sure. 

“I know. But, at Glastonbury, Michael still thought I was with Emily.”

“Well, that’s hardly surprising,” scoffs Richard. “You didn’t exactly go out there and issue denials to all those ‘they’re back together’ articles after the BAFTAs and for whatever reason, neither did she.”

“Right, but…” Taron trails off. He’s not sure why he hasn’t said anything either. It’s not that he’s ashamed but it’s never been the right time to raise it. 

“But there’s got to be a place in between sending out a press release and having it be something our friends know?” Bless Richard for rescuing him. 

“Yeah, that. I thought you might’ve told them.”

“You’re not out,” explains Richard, ever so patient. “I didn’t feel it was my place.”

“Exactly. God, this is complicated.”

“Well, I’ve told my mum about you, now, so I don’t mind who knows. If someone tries to go back to her with a vicious rumour that I’m cheating on Brandon, she’ll know the truth of it.”

“Ugh, I hadn’t even _ thought _about that angle.”

“People are awful.”

“I want people to know. I’m not ashamed of us,” says Taron. “I’m not ashamed of being in love with you or loving the way kissing you makes me feel. I refuse to get accolades for playing Elton in public and then be told that because I love your prick up my bum, I ought to be shunned.”

“So that’s going in the speech, then is it?” laughs Richard. 

“Yes, absolutely. Also how much I love being on my knees for you.” He laughs, then takes a breath. “Seriously though, no. Obviously I’m not going to mention you because you’ve asked me not to. But maybe a reference to [ being proud to be part of the community in the speech](https://youtu.be/0UaxGf-HkxE)?”

“I like that. Keep it low-key for now. Save the announcement about our den of iniquity for the Oscars speech.”

“Don’t even joke about that! And maybe you have blanket permission from me after that to tell people either of us know in real life that we’re together.”

“Same back to you, from now, if you like.”

“Thank you, my darling. This means so much to me.”

“So when I see Colin tomorrow…?”

“You should tell him your boyfriend says hi.”

Taron can hear Richard’s grin from the other side of the country. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

***

His mouth is full, Richard’s stiff cock stretching his lips, bumping the back of his throat. He breathes shallowly and swallows around it, letting the inescapable solidity of it settle on his tongue. 

He draws back, a thread of spit connecting them for a moment, licks his lips and sinks back down, deep, letting that thick length slip into his throat this time, all the way down, his nose brushing against hair, his lips kissing Richard’s pubic bone. 

He floats on the rhythm of it, loses himself in it. It feels like it goes on for hours but for some reason he doesn’t need to breathe. 

He pulls back all the way, his hand coming up to circle Richard’s girth, the heft of it in his hand, and he is face to face with Richard’s stunning cock, the softness of the skin under his fingers, the wetness of the ruby flesh, the musky scent, the veins standing out down its sides, deep navy and violet, the slit glistening — and he reaches out his tongue to lick at the bead of moisture there, salt and sweet. This unutterably queer act, taking another man’s cock into his mouth, makes him _ want, _ this act of service, of devotion, of _ love_...

Waking up is surfacing slowly from a warm embrace. He’s flushed and a little surprised to realise he’s hard. The dream is still with him, so incredibly vivid. _ Well, hello, libido. Welcome back. _He can’t get the image of Richard’s cock out of his mind. He squirms under the light sheet, turns over and ruts against the bed a little. He wants Richard, misses him fiercely. 

It’s a very different ritual this morning, stiff and aching for it, waves of desire washing over him as he’s on his knees, breathless, trying to find his calm, and a very different text he sends Richard. 

Richard’s on set already, texted his good morning two hours ago, but he texts back _ want you too _ and a fire emoji half an hour later when he gets a smoko. 

And then _ you can wait until tonight, right? _ 😇

Taron groans and _ wants _ and texts back, _ as you wish _ and a winky face, and gets back, _ good boy. *my* good boy. _ And that makes him breathless all over again.

***

He spends the day flicking in and out of arousal, that detailed image of Richard’s cock distracting, Richard’s voice in his head saying, _ good boy_, looking at that text every other hour and feeling that expectation, _ you can wait until tonight, right? _ And he thinks maybe he can’t after all, finds himself almost stroking himself more than once.

Finally, it’s late and they _ must _ have called it a night by now, the light’s gone, so they’d have to wrap up the shot, and finally his phone is buzzing, and Richard’s face is on the screen, in dim lighting, in a trailer somewhere in the back country, saying, “I’ve not been able to get you out of my mind _ all day_, boy, the things you _ do _ to me.”

And Taron says, all gravel, “Tell me,” and Richard does, and it’s not long before they’re both gasping down the phone line to each other, Taron on his knees in his dark room, tugging at himself, the fingers of his other hand slick up behind him, pumping in and out, crying out _ please _ and _ fuck _ and finally, Richard’s face, jaw clenched for a moment and then mouth falling open, and little shuddery breaths in and he says, _ yes, Taron, now, with me, ah ah ahhhhhh _ and they spill together, clenching and pulsing and Taron strokes one finger down Richard’s cheek on the screen, and says, “_I love you _”.

***

Thursday night is absolutely mental. Microsoft is opening something they’re calling a ‘flagship store’ and they’re having a [ five-hour-long live broadcast](https://youtu.be/ZaeWUf433YM) of him and other celebs playing X-Box. He’s not shy about admitting that he has not played for years — the last thing he played with any kind of dedication was Skyrim as a teenager — and he’s honestly rubbish at it these days. The place is glowing green and black, like some weird alien spaceship. He’s set up with some guy called Benny and a woman named Leah, and the other ‘celeb’ there is a dude named Simon who is apparently also a YouTuber named Miniminter and these people are trying to get him to play Fortnite. His _ sisters _ are better at this than he is. It takes literally 30 minutes to just get the technology working and for some bizarre reason, they’ve made him the party leader. 

“I’ll be the Obi-Wan to your Qui-Gon Jinn,” says Taron to Benny. 

“Wait, does that mean you’re going to die?” says Benny.

“Well, yeah but not for years and years and years. If Qui-Gon Jinn’s still around, Obi must have like 50 years…” Benny’s completely missed the reference, hasn’t he? Has Taron just outgeeked the Microsoft guy? That’s a bit hilarious. “_You’re _ gonna die, yeah? At the hands of Darth Maul.” 

“This is a bit of a bleak outlook for us,” says Benny.

“I’m going to have beginner’s luck,” says Taron, cocky and pleased with himself.

When they finally get to playing Fortnite, Taron has no clue what is going on. But it doesn’t matter, because when his allotted hour is up, he gets to go into the foyer and meet his fucking favourite ex-Stormtrooper John Boyega himself, and he needs to make sure he doesn’t gush too much. 

He checks his phone, and there’s a text from Richard that came in while they were playing.

**5.20pm: Hey love. Back from the wilds of the highlands and headed for Portugal. B has been buried in Instagram for the last little while so taking this opportunity to talk with you. You alright?**

He texts back, even though Richard is probably on a plane now.

_ 6.11pm: Yeah, alright. Sorry for delay in reply. Weird xbox thing was weird as predicted. _

John Boyega seems as chuffed to meet Taron as Taron is to meet him and, next thing he knows, [ they’re hugging](https://twitter.com/dailytaronnews/status/1149432728045142016). It’s weird to think that he could have been the young Han Solo, but [ honestly he made the right decision not to pursue that](https://www.atomtickets.com/movie-news/why-taron-egerton-passed-on-solo-star-wars-movie/), given what happened. _ Good instincts, there, Egerton. _ The whole Star Wars universe is too precious to him to have participated in stuffing it up.

While he’s getting himself a drink from the bar, his phone buzzes again, and it’s from Colin this time. 

_ 6.45pm: You sly dog. Can’t say I’m entirely surprised but am very happy for you. Must catch up soon — will let Livia know we’re four for dinner. _

So Richard followed through and told him. He sends back a cheeky winky face and tells Colin he’d bloody love that. It’s been far too long.

It feels good, for Colin to know. Another step into the light. He’s still not sure when he and Richard are supposed to both be in London together long enough to have all of these dinner parties with their friends, though. Maybe when Richard’s training for Eternals? God knows it won’t be any time soon, but that’s something he’s starting to come to terms with.

He touches his fingertips to his bracelet and feels the absence, but also the depth of the love and affection between them. He heads back into the crowd, in press-the-flesh and smile-for-selfies mode.

Richard finally texts again:

**7.51pm: Landed safely and now ** [ **ensconced at bar in Algarve with Brandon**](https://twitter.com/flaviandreap/status/1149415429762363394)**, ** [ **Cara and Lauren**](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzypIg4n1YM/) ** — parentals looking after the littlies — bliss. **

Taron takes a moment out to respond. 

_ 7.51pm: That does sound lovely. _

He’s just typing more when the phone buzzes again.

**7.53pm** _ : _ **Strike that. ** [ **Have already been harassed by locals**](https://twitter.com/flaviandreap/status/1149420558611865605)**. ** [ **Some people are so entitled.**](https://twitter.com/millenaomc/status/1149413132982525957) **Sigh.**

_ 7.53pm: Sorry to hear, love. Presume Colin told you he wants us to come to dinner with him and Livia? I’ve said I’m in. _

_ 7.53pm: Also, you’ll never guess who I just met… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you get a chance, watch the hour or so of the Microsoft broadcast with Taron in it. It's actually _hilarious_.
> 
> And definitely, definitely, watch that acceptance speech for the Attitude award. It's quite incredible. I [squeed about it at the time on Tumblr](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/post/188252742173/oh-my-god-he-said-not-a-gay-man-instead-of).
> 
> I'd also like to thank people who screenshot celebrity Instagrams for posterity so I could confirm I wasn't losing my mind and that Taron really did post a luminescent green X-Box promo on his usually pristine timeline. Also for the folks who bother to tweet when they see actors filming near their local castle.
> 
> That cameo list is getting a bit silly... ah well.
> 
> I can't believe there's only two chapters and an epilogue to go.


	17. dreams of crystal streams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brandon, Richard and the entire Madden crew head to Portugal for a family holiday; Richard has a heart-to-heart with his big sister in a cave; Richard and Taron have a phone date that's hot as fuck; Richard and Brandon have lazy morning sex; honestly, Richard is not complaining about his sex life at _all_ right now; Taron goes to the Lion King premiere and is photographed by Andy Gotts; Richard and Brandon go on a triple date with two married gay couples — no pressure; the Emmy nominations are announced; Taron and Richard plan their reunion.
> 
> The tail-end of a fabulous summer, from Richard's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other half of what was the mammoth chapter 15. Can you imagine if I'd left it as one thing? This is more than 7,000 words on its own.
> 
> Thanks as always to [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus) who diligently went through this one despite me being a bit more resistant to suggestion than usual. And thanks for pushing me outside of my comfort zone, sometimes. It results in better work, in delving deeper and coming up with material that is more original and creative. As I said to you the other day, creativity is never a solo pursuit regardless of what neoliberal mythology would have us believe. The telescope would never have been invented if the inventor hadn’t lived in the town where lenses were invented. And then the microscope was invented in the same town 20 years later or something. Collaboration sparks inspiration.
> 
> Thanks to Em, for being my emotional compass and checking that our boys are being honest with each other, and for catching weird POV slips and lazy segues.
> 
> As always I need to acknowledge C was the first one to use the Gaelic for Richard, even though we've now established it's unlikely he speaks it fluently and hence my jab from Taron here. And I also have to thank C for linking me to [the fabulous panel where we discover that Richard makes an excellent Cosmopolitan](https://youtu.be/YrQHTHFJld8?t=3312).
> 
> And um... enjoy the porn.

The text from Taron is simple: _ Good morning. I love you. I miss you. I’m feeling it like a hole in me, empty and aching. _

Richard texts back immediately, tries not to take it entirely on himself but he can feel it there, the responsibility, the anxiety. 

**6.40am: Oh love. I love you so much. Hang on, I’ll call in 5.**

“Uh, excuse me, folks. Have to call a man about a dog…” He waves his phone and his family looks a little surprised, while Brandon nods, understanding. They’re in Algarve, Portugal. [ Cara and the kids have been at the villa since Monday](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzoEDtrHwdG/), the lucky bastards, but his parents and Richard and Brandon are just here for the weekend. 

“Tha’s early, son. What’s so important it cannae wait till after ye finish yer eggs?” asks his Dad. 

“Oh, Dick, leave the boy alone,” says Pat, bless her. “I’ll cover your plate.”

Richard escapes back upstairs in the villa. He may as well take advantage of the opportunity for a cigarette, so he opens the balcony doors and leans out, looking over the pool. By the time he gets up there, his phone buzzes again with a photo of the bracelet on Taron’s wrist and _ feeling a little more grounded but still call? If that’s okay… _

He lights his cigarette and calls Taron. 

“Hey, love. Of course it’s okay. I miss you too.”

“Hey,” says Taron. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for…”

“Now, now,” interrupts Richard. “You did exactly what we agreed. I want tae know how yer doing.”

“Better hearing your voice. I swear your accent gets stronger every time you’re near your family; it’s adorable.”

“I can make it e’en stronger fer ye if’n tha’ helps, _ mo ghràdh _…” Taron laughs, which is what Richard was after. 

“That’s the only Gaelic you know, isn’t it?”

“What kind of outrageous accusation…” he sputters. “I know at least two other phrases! Seriously though… you’re wearing your bracelet — so you did your ritual?”

“Yeah, and it settled me, but I still missed you. Texting last night was so lovely, but this morning I woke up alone. I just need to hold you. It’s been forever.”

“Me too, darling. Listen, I think we’ve got a window on July 15 — where will you be?”

“Are you kidding me? That’s shoddy timing. I’m back to Aber for Jack’s birthday. Can’t miss it, it’s his 30th.”

“Definitely can’t miss that! Say hi to [Sharan](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/post/186510368188/new-photos-posted-on-sharansinc04-on-instagram) for me.”

“Huh?” And then Taron laughs. “Oh, I’m daft. For a moment there, I thought you meant Elton but you mean Jack’s mum, don’t you? I’d completely forgotten that [ you met her at the NTA](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/post/186709439818/richardmaddendaily-richard-madden-wins-best-drama).”

“And I’d completely forgotten Elton’s also a Sharon.”

“Is that your only day free?”

“Ach, I think so? Maybe the 16th as well? When are you back?”

“The 17th…”

“That’s when we’re flying to LA. Bugger. But even if we can’t see each other then, we’ll see each other in San Diego in eight days.”

“I don’t know if I can wait that long, my love.”

“What are you up to today? And tomorrow?”

“Not much today. Tomorrow and maybe Sunday too I’ve got a shoot with Andy Gotts.”

“At yours?”

“Nah, Flemington Mayfair, same as your last one.”

“Good move. Well, let’s have a date night tonight… FaceTime, but a solid few hours, just us.”

“Yes, please,” says Taron, and he already sounds more steady. 

“Okay,” says Richard, relieved. “I’d better get back to breakfast before Dad eats my eggs. I’ll call you at 8, okay?” They sign off and he heads back downstairs, runs his hand across Brandon’s shoulder as he passes him. Brandon lifts a hand to meet Richard’s and he squeezes his fingers, reassuringly, then Richard sits back down and uncovers his plate. He can’t help but notice that it’s an egg short, so he points a finger at his father, accusingly. “I _ knew _it!” Big Dick shrugs, mugging innocence, and everyone chuckles. 

They spend the day at the [ Benagil Caves](https://www.algarvefun.com/benagil/) — in a way, it reminds him of Lecce, the rock formations, the cerulean water, but in other ways, Algarve feels more homely, more comfortable.

Sitting in that enclosed space with his older sister, while the others are swimming, feels like as good a time to raise what’s on his mind as ever. 

“Do you ever think,” he starts, “that we’ll see a day where no one cares who I’m shagging?”

Cara looks over at him, sharp. “No, Dick, sorry Bub. That ship sailed long ago. Ye’ve got nae hope o’ privacy fer the foreseeable future, my darling.”

“So, given that, it shouldn’t matter when something is said, right? It’ll probably always be hectic, just madness.”

“What are you planning, kiddo?”

He grimaces. “I’m nae _ planning _anything, dinna fash. But summat might happen anyhow. I mean, you’ve seen the coverage of the graduation… I’m not good at hiding my emotions and I’m not sure I want to any more.”

“Are ye worried about Pa’s reaction?”

“Aye. A bit.” He imitates his dad. “Tha’ stuff’s private, son. We don’t go splashin’ our dirty laundry aroon’ in the High Street…”

“Ye didn’t see him watching the scene where Elton come out to his Ma, Bub. He had a tear, he did. He loves you. And he can see we all love B.” She puts a hand on his arm. “Your face did something then,” she says. “This isn’t about Brandon, is it? Little Dickie Madden, tell your big sister what is going on right this instant.”

So he does, and she listens. 

When he’s done, she hugs him and tells him he always was the luckiest bastard in three counties, and that if Taron needs to come out, and that ends up with people knowing, well people are just going to have to get over themselves. She’s got his back. She’s the absolute best and he tells her that. 

In the car on the way back, Brandon and he sit in the back seat as his Dad drives, both of them on their phones, showing each other posts — [ Michael’s in Paris](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz0h-xvnmWY/), [ Douglas is grinning like a loon with a gold space suit](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz02f6rFZ8_/), [ Gemma’s in Provence](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz1QAiXlW86), and Richard taps the heart on Cara’s photo of them at the bar waiting for him and Brandon.

They have dinner together, as a family, and then Richard excuses himself, claiming he needs an early night. He’s already checked that Brandon’s cool with it, so Richard’s got a solid two hours to just chat with Taron. He takes his unfinished wine with him and nabs an open bottle on his way up. 

When the call connects, Taron’s lit with the blue light from the Troubadour sign in his kitchen, and a flickering gold light off to the side. 

“Hello, my love,” says Richard, “Are we having a candle-lit dinner then?”

Taron grins into the iPhone camera. “You said it was a date, love. I made pasta…” He indicates his plate, just on the bottom edge of the screen, proud as punch. 

“Ye bloody great softie. Stars, but I love you.” He can’t help the goofy grin on his face either and Taron’s eyes are crinkled back at him. 

“Have you got wine?”

Richard raises his glass into the frame. “As a matter of fact, I do. Malbec. You?”

“Pinot Grigio. On account of the salmon cream sauce.” Taron’s got a smarmy upper class accent going, taking the piss.

Richard laughs. 

“Tosser.”

“_Iechyd da_.”

“_Slàinte mhath_.”

They clink glasses against their respective cameras like the lovesick idiots they are and then just smile fondly at each other for far too long. 

“You should eat that afore it goes cold, my darling,” Richard points out, eventually.

“True,” says Taron, and digs in. “Mmm, not bad.”

They talk, about their days, about holidays, about upcoming films they want to see. Richard tells Taron how excited he is to be working with Gemma and Kit again, and Taron talks about the latest animation he’s involved with, this time [ voicing a heartbroken panda](https://mrkitevr.com/249459).

When the food’s finished and they’ve both poured a second glass of wine, Taron pushes back his chair and ensconces himself among the cushions on the sofa, the image in the tiny screen jostling for a moment or two before it settles, one of Taron’s arms under his head. Richard’s perched on the bed in the small villa, balcony doors open to the summer air. He gets up to shut them, anticipating sounds that might carry, and heads back, plonks himself down on top of embroidered white cotton. 

“I wish I could kiss you right now,” says Taron, into the quiet. “Snuggle up next to you with my head on your shoulder and one leg slung between yours on the bed there. You look very comfortable.”

“I’d stroke your hair and kiss you back.”

“Mmm. I’d like that.” Taron’s image shifts in the screen for a moment as he takes a sip of wine and puts the glass down again. 

Richard’s hard already — always, been hard for ages, really — listening to Taron, images of him naked and wanting flitting through his mind every so often in between mundane comments about beach walks. Taron’s lips on the screen in front of him, wet with wine. He wants to lick and bite them until they’re red and so sensitive. He wants to ruin that wet mouth, sink into it with his cock, choke him with it, pull Taron’s hair, but these days he’s letting Taron set the pace. He groans and presses a hand to his straining groin, over his slacks.

“What are _ you _thinking about?” Taron asks, at that, because of course Richard’s gone and given himself away, hasn’t he? 

“Your mouth,” admits Richard, divulging as little as he can. Taron smiles, eyes a little heated, so Richard risks it, continues. “The wet heat of your mouth. _ Jesus.” _

“Mmm,” says Taron. “I don’t think I told you about my dream in detail, did I? Woke up yesterday so hard for you, images of your cock in front of me and sinking down on it, swallowing you down so deep…”

“Fucking hell, T. Want that. Want you.” His cock is pressing against his flies, now, a wet spot forming in his pants. 

“Yeah?” Taron shifts on the screen. 

“D’ye not know that by now?”

“Oh, I do,” teases Taron. “Just like hearing it.”

Well, fuck, if Taron’s _ asking_, who is he to deny him? “Need me to tell you, do ye? How I want you under me, how much I want you arching back beneath me, so eager for me, begging me to touch you?”

“_Fuck_, Richard.”

“Is that what you need to hear? How I want to take you apart, with my hands and my tongue, until you lose all sense of where you are, until you’re babbling, gasping for me?”

That gorgeous wet mouth is parted now, Taron’s eyes dark with desire. “Please,” he begs. “Please, I want to… can I…” He makes a hand gesture that’s half out of frame, but Richard gets the gist. 

“Yeah, touch yourself, darling. Lemme hear you.” Taron’s hand moves to outside the frame, and Richard can hear a zip, and then Taron moans, soft. 

Richard is absolutely consumed by that sound. His body’s on fire, and his heart is pounding in his ears. The fierce need to possess Taron is now a roar in his head, and he’s almost scaring himself with it. “_Mine_,” he says, before he can stop himself, bites his lip immediately like he can hold the words in, his own hand thrust into his pants now, jerking his cock, smearing the clear slick down his shaft, hips moving rapid to meet his fist. “You… _ fuck…_”

“Yeah, _ yours_, Richard,” and Taron gasps on the upstroke.

“Show me,” says Richard and the image shifts and he can see the top of Taron’s glistening glans peeking in and out of his foreskin as Taron’s hand moves it up, down, up, the slit just a little open each time and a bead of pre-cum appears and Taron’s thumb swipes across it on a twist, spreads it down and around and he moans and his hips thrust up into his fist, and Richard can hear him just chanting, “Richard, Richard, Richard,” and he has to slow down his own strokes or he’s going to reach his destination far too fucking soon.

“So good for me, gorgeous boy, doing exactly what I tell you to do. You’ve got the most stunning cock, my love, so beautiful.” Taron’s just moaning continuously now, melting under the praise. “Wanna see your face again, baby, tilt that camera back up again but keep fucking your fist, yeah? _ Good boy… _” he adds, as Taron does what he’s asked, immediately.

Taron’s lips are parted and he’s panting raggedly, and fuck if he doesn’t look just perfect, even _ more _ fuckable than he did just a few minutes ago.

“Jesus fuck, _ your mouth_, Taron Egerton.” 

“Wanna come,” begs Taron, broken, “Please can I come?”

“_No_,” Richard says, firmly, and he hears Taron make a small, strangled sound. “Hands behind your head right now, where I can see them.” And Taron’s doing it, little whines, and moans, high and sweet.

“Oh god, Richard.”

“You’re mine. My boy. Such a good boy,” breathes Richard.

“_Yes,_” moans Taron, reedy, on edge.

“Say it.”

“Your good boy,” Taron gasps. 

“You still with me, T? Still hard?”

“Yes, yes, want you. So much. Wanna come. _ Please, _ Richard.”

“Soon, baby.” He’s still stripping his own cock, relentless. “I love you. Love you being mine. You’re so fucking talented.” They both moan, at that. Taron’s mouth is slack and his eyes are blown. “Imagining sliding into your hole, T, you just open up so well for me, you’re so good. Hot and so soft. So tight around me. _ Fuck_.”

“_ Richard… _” Taron moans.

“Gonna fuck you so hard. My boy,” Reminds himself to say it. “Love you.”

“Please… _ please_, Richard. Wanna touch myself. Wanna come.” Richard is so close, so hard, just… 

“Yeah, T, do it,” and Taron shifts his hand down to his cock so fast the phone tumbles and the view slips. Richard is coming, hard, trying to keep the noise down, growling low in his throat. He wants to fucking _ bite _ Taron; bites the back of his own hand instead. Richard can’t see Taron’s face any more; instead, there’s belly and the edge of a hand, moving rapidly and he can hear in the background, Taron’s increasingly strangled, _ oh my god, oh my GOD_, and then jets of white shoot past the lens and the screen fills for a moment with the couch fabric as the phone falls completely, and then Taron is lifting it back up in shaky fingers, and Richard is breathing heavily, smiles at his beautiful man, half torn between saying ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’, when Taron says, “Fuck, I love you,” and Brandon texts, “Let me know when it’s safe,” at the same time.

***

Richard wakes up slowly, emerging into warmth and a gentle tongue caressing his left ear. He hums and stretches, languorous, becomes aware of Brandon hard against the curve of his arse, undulates back against him sensuously. 

“Good morning,” he murmurs. 

Brandon nips at his earlobe. “Mmm, good morning, stunner.”

Richard twists in Brandon’s arms, wraps his arm around his boyfriend, and kisses him, soft, slow, ever so gentle. Brandon kisses him back, opens to him, ducks his tongue out to lap against Richard’s. They both shift and their naked bodies slide slowly against each other, chests together, cocks against each other’s bellies. 

“What time is it?” asks Richard. 

“Just after 7,” responds Brandon, pressing his lips against Richard’s again. Richard presses up against Brandon a second time, relishing in the tautness of his inguinal ligament and the hardness of his thigh. 

“Mmm.” He kisses Brandon again, sucks on his lower lip, bites it ever so carefully and pulls it back with him as he pulls away. Brandon’s hand goes into Richard’s hair, right where he likes it, and then his other brushes across Richard’s left nipple and Richard gasps, presses into it. 

Richard mouths at Brandon’s neck, along his jawline, rolls his hips again. They kiss again, lazy. 

“I love you,” says Brandon.

“Mmmm, “ Richard hums, “Love you…” 

There’s no urgency to any of it, even as he feels himself get harder. It’s like the intensity of last night with Taron has bled all that built-up tension out of him, and now he can give Brandon his full attention, the way Brandon needs. His brain is coming on-line slowly, sparking connections and what it’s suggesting is kissing his way down Brandon’s chest, stroking his upper arm, across that tattooed clock and earth, dipping his tongue into the man’s belly button, licking down that treasure trail, around the main prize, down to where Brandon is parting his legs to let him in, licking a wet stripe up Brandon’s sac, swirling his tongue up and around, taking one of Brandon’s balls into his mouth and gently sucking, and Brandon lies back at first and then says, soft, “Hang on, give me a moment…” and he’s rearranging himself, swings his leg across and now he’s lying up the other way, breath hot on Richard’s cock, and Richard feels a wet tongue lapping directly on his oh-so-sensitive cockhead peeking out of his foreskin, and he leans forward and envelopes Brandon’s exposed glans in his own mouth, drawing a groan from Brandon that reverberates straight down his shaft. 

He smiles and sinks down on Brandon’s length at the same time as Brandon swallows him and then, together, they suckle and lick, rock their hips deeper from time to time on a spike of want, echo each others’ resulting moans and slowly, slowly build each other up until it’s a feedback loop of groaning and pumping, and he feels his mouth fill with salt and sweet, thick on his tongue as his own bollocks draw up and spurt into the welcome cavern of his lover’s mouth. They both hold each other softening for a moment, hands gentling down hips, and then Brandon pulls off Richard and draws his hips back, turns himself around again and draws Richard up to him to kiss him again and again, their flavours mingling, tongues tangling, like they’re trying to merge into one being. 

“I love you,” says Brandon again.

Richard kisses him on the forehead. “You always have the best ideas, my darling.”

“I’m so glad we’re around the same height, that’s all I have to say about that…”

“I love you, Brandon,” says Richard, catching up. “We should get on with the day.” He drags himself out of bed and goes to shower.

When he comes back, Brandon is on his phone and shows him that Dick Madden [ posted a photo of the pool downstairs to Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz2NqIqJahi/) at the ungodly hour of 7am. Brandon likes the post. “I think your dad is trolling us,” he tells Richard. 

“Absolutely no doubt,” says Richard with a grin. “And honestly, I don’t much care. I think I got the better end of the deal if the alternative was a 7am swim with my Pa…” But Brandon gets up to shower and they both go downstairs to face the gentle ribbing that they’re only just emerging at almost 9am, grab a quick breakfast and a green juice, and head out with everyone for their last day in Portugal.

***

It’s a lovely day, if bittersweet — the tail-end of the long, lazy holiday. By 5.30pm, they’re back at Faro airport and [ on their way back to Heathrow](https://twitter.com/forsebetta/status/1150148833093070858).

It’s utterly bizarre, landing in the same city as Taron and not being able to see him. [ He’s been with Andy Gotts all day today](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz6LDQRpOlE/), and the man’s an incurable gossip, so catching up tonight is definitely not happening. Richard’s done [ shoots with Gotts before](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bo3rLitnmeO/) and [ will again](https://www.instagram.com/p/B1uWHljJZm3/) — the guy’s a genius — but also just a bit much sometimes. And then tomorrow night’s the Lion King premiere, so Taron will be at that with the whole family and then going straight back to Aberystwyth with them. If anything, Richard grumps to himself, they’re going to spend less time interacting with each other on these two days than they did when they were in different countries. 

Still, they text each morning and each night, and Richard’s breath catches every single time he gets that daily photo of the bracelet, imagining Taron naked on his knees _ for him_, and he wonders if that will ever get old. 

Sunday night rolls around, and Taron texts almost constantly through [ the Lion King do](https://twitter.com/MediaEyeTweets/status/1150415931304288257) — when he spots Beyoncé, and when Elton introduces him to _ the Duke and Duchess of fucking Sussex, can you believe my life, Dickie, wtaf? _ Elton and David take him under their wing — Guy Ritchie is there, and Pharrell Williams and Chiwetel Ejiofor and Jon Favreau; the list goes on. And then there’s the weirdness of [ Elton being deeply unimpressed with what they’ve done with the music for it](https://www.gq-magazine.co.uk/culture/article/elton-john-interview), and Taron texts, _ The Big Man is shaking with rage next to me. I would NOT want to be the person responsible for this. Fark. _ There’s [ an after-party at Harry’s Bar](https://www.eonline.com/au/news/1056875/beyonce-and-jay-z-go-glam-for-the-lion-king-after-party-all-the-details) and the texts get progressively drunker, especially after Taron’s mam takes the girls back to his flat, and it all makes Richard smile. Around 1am, he gets a very slurred call from a bathroom stall and has to gently deter Taron from anything that’s going to result in highly inappropriate headlines for a kids’ movie. Taron thanks him in the morning for that one and bemoans his pounding headache. Richard has no sympathy whatsoever; he has _ empathy _ in spades, but no sympathy.

As Monday is just three days before they’re due to arrive in LA, Brandon has a FaceTime call with Lydia and Dylan, who are looking after Charlie and honestly, it’s too cute watching Brandon tell the dog that his daddies are coming home soon. That dog has no idea how spoiled it’s about to be. Brandon might think that Richard doesn’t know about the whole [ BarkBox ](https://www.barkbox.com/) plan but Richard isn’t as bad at Instagram as everyone thinks. Richard knows full-well that Brandon recently followed the company on Instagram although he hasn’t mentioned it at all, and Richard’s assuming that Brandon’s signed up for the monthly delivery of gourmet dog treats and toys out of guilt for having spent so long away. Richard is studiously avoiding bringing it up either; he 100% approves of indulging their baby but someone has to pretend to be the responsible parent, right?

After that, Brandon and he do what they often do these days: sit in companionable silence, like the same things at the same time on Instagram and laugh at each other.

Taron’s Insta story pops up while he’s scrolling — Taron’s in the car on the way to Aber; his mum’s driving and the girls are in the back as usual. It’s all singalongs and delightful. Taron invites Richard to FaceTime in to join them but Richard gracefully declines. No one needs him ruining things, and he’s not sure he could keep things PG enough, considering all he wants to do at any given moment of the day right now is bend Taron over and fuck him senseless.

As they’re texting back and forth, Gotts sends Taron [ a proof sheet](https://www.instagram.com/p/B03aTcCJt8K/) from Saturday and Taron duly forwards his favourites to Richard. Together [ they pick one out for Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz-Wau4lNub/). Richard goes back and likes the post of Taron with Gotts while he’s at it. Elton has posted a [ fabulous photo of Taron and him](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz7f2lPD7Hn/) at the premiere. Richard texts Taron a link to that and observes that Elton was clearly better dressed, so when Taron texts back rude things about Richard’s taste and ability to use social media, Richard clicks the heart on the [ photo of Elton and David from the premiere](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz7ehLzjn3Z/) instead.

***

That night, Jeremy and Simon have invited them out to dinner with another couple. The place, Flor, has literally only just opened next to Borough Market, and Jeremy swears everyone’s been raving about it. Unsurprisingly, there’s a crowd hoping for a walk-in spot in the tiny space — Jeremy’s booked, of course, and he knows the manager, John Ogier, from Lyle’s. Brandon and Richard climb up the narrow stairs to find Jeremy and Simon already squeezed into a corner table with their friends.

They all stand up and Jeremy introduces [ Tom Konig-Oppenheimer](https://instagram.com/tomkonig) and his husband [ Adam Brown](https://instagram.com/therealobman) to Brandon — Richard’s met them before, extremely briefly — and then Brandon and Richard take their seats and Simon pours them both glasses of wine and hand them a menu.

They decide to order a variety of plates to share — the deer, the pheasant, the scarlet prawns (for everyone but Brandon).

“So, how do you know Jeremy and Simon?” asks Brandon.

“Same circles, really,” says Tom. “I’m [ in fashion PR](https://www.arts.ac.uk/colleges/london-college-of-fashion/people/tom-konig-oppenheimer)…”

“And I run a [ swimwear brand](https://www.orlebarbrown.com/) that Jeremy is kind enough to stock at Mr Porter,” says Adam.

“I’d be doing that even if you weren’t married to Tom, darling. It’s a _ fabulous _line.”

“That’s true,” says Adam, smiling.

“Where are you from?” Tom asks Brandon. 

“Miami, originally,” he replies. “But based in LA now.”

“Oh wow,” says Adam, “I was literally [ just there a few days ago](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bzz94W3g2Sz/).”

“LA?”

“No, Miami. Staying at the[ Soho Beach House](https://www.sohobeachhouse.com/).”

“Fancy…” says Brandon, appreciatively.

A waiter arrives with the first plates and there’s a moment of exclaiming at the delicious smells, and then the relative messiness of sucking the prawn heads.

“That looks kind of disgusting,” says Brandon. “I’m so incredibly glad I’m having the puntarelle instead.”

Richard steals some from his plate. “Mmm, nice but the prawns are better, sorry.”

“You’re allergic?” asks Adam.

“Jewish,” says Brandon.

“So no issues with kissing after…?”

“Well, nothing that will kill me,” laughs Brandon. Simon orders another bottle of wine.

They talk about travel, and Milan, and Jeremy’s new [ Health in Mind fund](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0VwOIkh8c2/) that will be launching next week. 

“You’ll be back in time for that, won’t you, darling?” says Brandon.

“Sadly,” says Richard. “No offense, Jem, but if it weren’t for my next project bringing me back to train here, I would totally just stay at home for a while.” 

“Why aren’t you just staying here?” asks Tom, reasonably.

“Convention in San Diego. Big announcement that I can’t talk about.”

“And I have to start work again next week — season four,” says Brandon.

“The weirdest thing,” says Richard, “is that we’ve both been in Europe for weeks, but I have to go to bloody San Diego to finally get to see Taron again. God, I miss him.”

“Oh, we’re talking about this out loud, now, are we?” laughs Simon. 

“Come on, darling, it’s not like they were subtle about it at ours last month,” chips in Jeremy. 

“Be nice,” says Richard. “Yes, we’re talking about this out loud now. Official encouragement from Taron. I can’t repeat his actual words since we’re in public…”

“Oh, really?” smirks Jeremy. “I knew I liked that man.”

“I thought you were [ _ my _ second husband](https://www.instagram.com/p/BsVhHOLlFDb/), Richard, I’m hurt,” says Simon. Richard punches him lightly on the arm.

“So, all three of you…?” asks Adam.

Brandon winks at him. “I wish, but no. Taron isn’t wired like that.”

“Well, I admire you, Brandon. We’ve done open before, it’s not always easy,” says Tom.

Brandon shrugs. “I’ve done this before too. I’m pretty confident we’ll be fine.” He puts his hand over Richard’s. 

“Well, [ we’ve been together 25 years now](https://www.instagram.com/p/BusbVPDgxyj/),” says Adam, smiling at Tom, “so take it from me that the key is communicate, communicate, communicate.”

“If there are any two people I could do this with, it’d be these two, honestly,” says Richard. “I don’t deserve either of them.”

“OK,” says Simon, “That was so sickeningly sweet, I’m almost certain no one has room for dessert, but I hear the brown butter cakes are to die for…”

After dinner, they talk about keeping in touch and work out [ Simon and Brandon aren’t following each other on Instagram so they rectify that immediately](https://uploads.tapatalk-cdn.com/20190715/a52ca4f98c9e2b640924726bb3a11faf.jpg), and [ Richard and Brandon both follow Tom](https://uploads.tapatalk-cdn.com/20190715/f63b2779371a983ba80ebbb872a8a4b3.jpg) and [ Adam](https://uploads.tapatalk-cdn.com/20190715/52e403fc6b9cb40a500249529a548701.jpg).

They say farewell to Tom and Adam and head back to Jeremy and Simon’s London pad for a nightcap. Richard texts Taron a photo of the butter cakes and _ this is not on the meal plan, Blodwyn, going to pay for it next week _ and then films a little video from the four of them saying ‘Goodnight, Taron’, sends it and gets back _ goodnight _ with a blush emoji and _ I love you _ and _ Mam says hi_.

***

Waking up on the day of the Emmy nominations was always going to be filled with butterflies and heart palpitations. He takes advantage of Jeremy’s well-appointed gym to work off some of the butter cake — the thing might have been tiny, but _ Christ _it was rich — and he hates it, it bores him to death, working out, but at least mindless, painful workouts give his anxious hands something to do. Over and over and over and over.

An hour later, he’s sweaty and everything hurts, and there’s still _ hours _ to go until the announcement. OK, worst case scenario? Bodyguard is nominated for nothing at all. So, anything other than that is a bonus?

Jeremy and Simon have both gone to work — they’ll be back for the live-stream this afternoon — but Brandon gently steers Richard into the bathroom, pampers him in the huge double shower, working expensive “[Doers of London” shampoo](https://www.mrporter.com/en-au/mens/product/doers-of-london/shampoo/shampoo-300ml/8378037990758280) into his hair, which is just getting long enough to curl again, kisses down his throat, rinses him off, blows him, and rinses him off again. His hair smells ever so faintly of sage, when they’re done, herbal and fresh.

They have lunch — just raid the fridge for cold cuts and cheese, no point risking being papped and having that be the story instead of “Richard Madden nabs Emmy nomination for Bodyguard”. And ugh, did he just jinx it? Shut up, shut up, shut up.

They spend the next little while on their phones, Instagram as always, liking posts from Elton and Laura Dern and Gemma.

Simon and Jeremy come back, and Simon kindly makes a round of Cosmos.

“Not as good as yours, love, but something to take the edge off your misery,” he says, handing it over.

They settle down in the media room, and Jeremy fiddles with the set-up — trying to find if there’s a cable version before settling on Chromecasting from [ the live-stream on the official site](https://youtu.be/YzG_MD5G1xc) itself.

Brandon reaches over and holds Richard’s hand. And then it’s time.

At 4.30pm precisely, Jeremy flicks the lights off and the sound up. Some guy spends far too long setting everything up and talks about who’s going to be available for interviews and Richard just takes slow deep breaths. When the countdown appears on screen, Simon refills Richard’s Cosmopolitan and squeezes his shoulder.But no, of course it’s still not the nominations. It’s Frank Scherma talking about how television has never been more exciting and Richard literally screws up the paper serviette under his cocktail glass and throws it at the screen. Jeremy frowns at him.

“Breathe, Dickie.”

“I _ am_,” Richard grits out.

Scherma introduces Ken Jeong and D’Arcy Carden and for fuck’s _ sake_, would they just get _ on with it_, no one needs to hear their entire CVs. Yes, yes, they’re both amazing, we knew that already. Moving on?

OK, _ breathe_. Are they deliberately dragging this out? _ Shut up. _

“The biggest names in Hollywood are tuned in right now to hear one thing…” says D’Arcy. OK, maybe here we go? 

And Ken replies, “And it ain’t this part where we compliment each other with a bunch of banter rambling on and on…”

Holy fuck, they actually _ are _ doing this deliberately. 

“Nope,” says D’Arcy, “Ugh, that is so true. Imagine you’re Sterling K Brown. You woke up early this morning, you made your little coffee in your beautiful dine-in kitchen…”

Richard stands up, abruptly.

“Someone text me when they stop fucking around?”

He leaves the room without waiting for an answer, heads straight out back and lights up, that first drag instantly soothing, and he hates that this nicotine hit sinks into his blood like a hug, at the same time as he’s long ago come to terms with the fact that he’s addicted. He brings the cigarette to his mouth again, a little slower, wraps his lips around the filter and breathes in, blows out long and slow, flicks the ash off the end, and honestly doesn’t need any more than that if they call him in now.

His phone pings and he doesn’t even look at it, just goes back in.

“You didn’t miss a thing,” says Brandon, when he walks in on D’Arcy saying, “the nominees are…”

“Might have smashed the TV though…” says Jeremy.

“Shush!” says Richard, because this is actually it.

“Mahershala Ali for _ True Detective_,” says D’Arcy. There’s a smattering of polite applause.

“Benicio Del Toro, _ Escape at Dannemora_. Hugh Grant, _ A Very English Scandal_. Jared Harris, _ Chernobyl_. Jharell Jerome, _ When They See Us_,” she continues. There are some whoops from the audience for that one. “And Sam Rockwell, _ Fosse/Verdon_. These are the nominees for lead actor in a limited series or movie.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” says Brandon.

“No, it’s all good, love. I think we count as a drama series for this one, not a limited series.”

“On we go then… Who needs a top up?” Jeremy is already pouring for Richard as he speaks but Richard waves him off halfway. 

They listen to name after name. Category after category. Some names of friends, mostly people they don’t know. Phoebe is definitely going to get that for _ Fleabag. _

And oh god, now it really _ is _ his category.

“The nominees for lead actor in a drama series are Jason Bateman, _ Ozark_. Sterling K. Brown, _ This Is Us_. Kit Harington, _ Game of Thrones_.” 

Richard grins and says, “Yes, Kit!” and Brandon smiles. 

But D’Arcy is still going. He tries to unclench his fingers. “Bob Odenkirk, _ Better Call Saul_.”

Wait, this is alphabetical, he…

“Billy Porter, _ Pose_. And Milo Ventimiglia, _ This Is Us_. These are the nominees for lead actor in a Drama Series. Yeah…”

And… 

Oh.

“Well…” he says. “Definitely take another one of those drinks now, Si. Got any whisky?”

“Course. Two ticks.”

“They’re idiots, Richard,” says Brandon. “What would they know?”

“At least you know it’s not your sexuality, with Billy in the mix, darling,” says Jeremy. And Richard looks at him, eyes wide. It honestly hadn’t occurred to him. He knew it might be a risk for _ casting _ but he thought that once the performance was in… well, fuck all of them if that’s what it was. He’s happier than he’s ever been in his _ life_. More connected with himself. Life goals, not career goals. He said it in [ that Hollywood Reporter Roundtable interview](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j64pLoiiwyE&feature=youtu.be) that ironically came out just yesterday but it’s becoming a little mantra.

Simon comes back with a crystal tumblr with about four fingers of whisky in it. “It’s the Glendronach Parliament, darling. Thought you could do with something a little sweet.” He takes a test sip and then a big swig of it and gives Simon a thumbs up.

He cheers again for Emilia’s nomination. But these presenters are just _ awful_. 

They sit through even more nominees. Outstanding Drama is last of course.

“And finally,” says Ken, “the nominations in the Outstanding Drama category are: _ Better Call Saul _ ; _ Bodyguard_,” and then they’re all whooping and Jeremy says, “Well, thank fuck for that at least,” and Richard says, “Shut it, shut it, I want to hear who we’re up against.”

“… _ of Thrones_,” says Ken, “_Killing Eve_, _ Ozark_, _ Pose_, _ Succession _ and _ This Is Us_.”

“We won’t win it,” says Richard.

“Bit early for that, babe,” says Brandon, exchanging a look with Jeremy that Richard can clearly see amounts to _ who’s on Richard duty? _ And honestly, fuck the Television Association and their weird snub. He’s got a Golden Globe and an NTA award and _ two _ boyfriends and he’s _ Ikaris_, for fuck’s sake.

His phone has started buzzing — because of course it has. He answers texts from Taron and his Ma, and then pockets the phone to deal with all that later. 

“OK,” says Richard, standing up and brushing himself off, literally and figuratively. “Let’s adjourn to the parlour and get wrecked.”

***

On the morning of the 17th, the three of them head over to Jeremy’s office early, sore heads notwithstanding, and Brandon coos over all of the gorgeous clothes and shoes, while Richard sits back and enjoys watching his man be a clotheshorse. 

Last night, while he was still relatively sober, he texted congratulations to Kit and Alfie and Gwen and almost everyone else who’s still in _ Thrones_, to be honest. He was gracious about the commiserations he got in response, and then he turned his bloody phone off. He still hasn’t turned it back on, actually — except exceedingly briefly to text Taron this morning and tell him the phone will be off for the foreseeable and wait for Taron to send back acknowledgement, virtual hugs and a photo of his wrist and _ his _ bracelet with _ I love you so so much, my darling Richard, always_. 

He’s not thinking about anything else. He’s putting the whole shambles behind him and moving on.

The bag they end up with is almost bigger than Brandon and Jeremy takes a photo of him walking across the road with it to have brunch at the [ Gloria Trattoria](https://www.bigmammagroup.com/en/trattorias/gloria). Jeremy asks [ permission to post it to Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0AtfvvheBv/). Brandon says yes, but not on the actual Mr Porter account until he’s checked with his agent — doesn’t want to get into trouble for promoting someone if there’s another contract in the pipeline he doesn’t know about yet. They all think the caption’s hilarious — Jeremy _ is _ an old man in comparison — and Brandon replies, “Charity keeps me young xx”.

Brunch is incredible — from now on, Brandon declares, he is absolutely putting pear compote and peanut butter on his porridge and Richard is raving about the cucumber/elderflower/lemon juice/thyme concoction and orders a second one.

When they’re done, Jeremy drives them to Heathrow — and, just like that, the holiday is over. 

It’s an 11-hour flight, and the time difference is a killer. When they land, it’s midnight in their heads but only 4pm in LA. 

Richard’s in an absolutely foul mood and doesn’t want to take it out on Brandon, so when Brandon decides to distract himself from sleeping with more bloody Instagram, Richard retreats to their room. He texts Taron goodnight, and he apologises for the lengthy radio silence. Taron’s still up, and he texts back asking if Richard wants to talk. Honestly the answer is _ not really_, but he does need to stay awake and it’s not like it will hurt Taron to get onto US time early. 

“Hey,” he says when he flicks the slider across to answer. 

“Hey yourself, _ cariad_.”

“How was the seaside?”

“Salty. As are you, it seems.”

“Sorry.” Richard leans back into the headboard. 

“I love you anyhow.”

“Thanks,” says Richard, and he sounds exhausted even to himself. “I just… I keep going over it.”

“Of course you do. It’s natural. You fucking carried that show, love. It wouldn’t have that Best Drama nom without you.”

“I can’t wait to see you,” Richard says, knows full well how needy he sounds, now. God, all his emotions are just right on the surface, aren’t they?

“Just a few more days.”

“I looked at the schedule. Looks like we won’t see each other till the party.”

Taron groans. 

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” Richard hurries to reassure him. “I know last time we talked about something like this, it felt like that would mean we’d have to hold back but honestly, love, after yesterday... I don’t really care any more what Hollywood thinks. When I see you, I’m just going to wrap you up and give you the biggest goddamn hug. I don’t care who sees it. Let them snap _ pictures _of it, if they like.”

“Okay…” Richard can hear the smile in Taron’s voice. “And after that…?”

“After that, I’m gonna take you to my hotel room and I’m gonna fucking take you apart and remake you…” The thought has Richard feeling a lot better all of a sudden. Taron’s little in-drawn breath is icing on top. 

“Are you, now?” Taron murmurs down the line. Richard’s not sure if that’s a challenge or a plea. 

“If you’ll let me… If you want that…” Richard says, suddenly afraid that he’s taken it too far.

“I miss it as much as you do, love. You’ve been playing it a bit safe…” Taron reassures him. 

“What would… I mean, if we didn’t… play it safe… what do you want to try?”

“God, so many things, Dickie. I’ve already told you I like being held down, so maybe some bondage. More breath control stuff? Your hand, maybe…”

Richard chokes on nothing at all. 

“You okay, love?” smirks Taron. 

“I think that going there this weekend might be moving a bit fast for me, duckie.” 

“I was _ hoping _ you’d like that. But okay, not _ yet_. Anything you’d like to try? Maybe not immediately but just, you know…”

Richard can’t believe they’re having this conversation but in for a penny, in for a pound. “Uh… knife play?”

“_Really?” _ says Taron, breathless, fast.

Richard forces himself to keep talking through his own embarrassment. It’s excruciating. “I might’ve… googled you… at one point… when we weren’t together yet, and I might’ve found a [ certain image of you with a knife at your throat…” ](https://taronunwin.tumblr.com/post/187148240045)

“Did you _ really_, my darling?” Taron sounds turned on and amused all at once.

“… and your… um… in the picture, your lips are slightly parted like you want it, badly…” Richard’s moan is entirely involuntary.

“Uh huh…” says Taron, smug. “Underwater work, knife at my throat. Matthew Vaughn seems to like me on the edge of subspace. Not that either of us knew what it was back then and I hope _ he _never works it out. But for you…”

“Oh _ god_,” says Richard. He feels so exposed, admitting this _ edgy _ desire, even if it is only to Taron.

“For the record, love, I had a wank over you in _ Bodyguard_, so you don’t need to feel embarrassed about that bit…”

“You did not!”

“I really did. What else, something we could _ actually _ do on Saturday?”

Richard thinks a little. “You like orgasm denial. Ever used a cock ring?”

“No…” breathes Taron. 

“Hmmm. And if I gave you one in the middle of the party, and told you to go put it on for me in the bathrooms, would you do that for me?”

The sound Taron makes is gorgeous. Richard laughs, delighted.

“New rule, my darling boy. I need words, need you to ask me for what you want out loud from now on, yeah?”

“Yeah, Richard.”

“Would you wear that for me, T, a little secret just for us?”

“Yeah, Richard. Please. I want to do that for you.”

And Richard, just because he wants to hear it, says, low, “Ask me. If you want it, ask me.”

And Taron, all gravel and desire, says, “Please, Richard, may I wear a cock ring for you in San Diego?” His voice is barely a whisper by the end of the sentence.

Richard closes his eyes and has to press a hand down on his increasingly straining groin. “_Yes_, you may,” he says, and then, a little overwhelmed, “You’re so fucking incredible, T, I cannae believe you’re mine some days.”

“Not just some days, my darling. Every day,” says Taron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't believe how much of this actually happened. Some of it is conjecture, sure, but what else are we to make of Cara Brown (Richard's sister) and Richard's Dad both posting from Algarve about family holidays and having other people posting that they've spotted Richard and Brandon in Algarve, if not that they were all on holidays together? Of course we have no idea where Richard and Brandon and Jeremy and Simon went to dinner with Tom and Adam — but the simultaneously following each other on Instagram makes it hard not to imagine they all did something together that night.
> 
> Thanks as always to the Tapatalk forum, without whom I wouldn't have had these screenshots of social media follows.
> 
> Also, fuck the Emmys. And eeek, Golden Globes nominations are out this Monday!
> 
> Oh and finally I completely forgot, if you want the hot knife fic, you’re going to need to read C’s fic, specifically chapter 10: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20419271/chapters/50515262


	18. slowly slowly slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taron arrives in San Diego; Richard and Brandon go to dinner in West Hollywood at a restaurant notorious for paparazzi; Taron remembers that he sings; Taron meets Mark Fucking Hamill; Richard is a wicked man; Hall H is a lot, you know? but then so is Richard Madden as Ikaris; Taron and Richard are finally in the same room again; Richard has something for Taron to wear; Taron and Richard have mind-blowing sex; Taron and Richard have more mind-blowing sex; Richard has a gift for Taron; Richard and Taron leave San Diego; Brandon and Richard have a proposition for Taron.
> 
> It's all coming together from Taron's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, at the 'final' chapter (there's an epilogue set in the future next week). This chapter alone is almost 9000 words. Wow.
> 
> I can't quite believe we're here. It really has been a wild ride and I'm so incredibly grateful to the regular readers who have made the effort to comment every week. I cannot tell you how much that sustained me at points in time when I felt like I was writing this for no reason.
> 
> Thanks as always to [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus) — this has been absolutely epic, and a bit of a fascinating journey watching us both write three-way poly fic but from very different perspectives. Specific mention for the word 'golden' which 100% comes from her 'golden boy' tag on Tumblr for Taron content. Thanks to Em for reading and feedback and constant real life emotional support, this week including a stitch'n'bitch, gelato and gluten-free gingerbread, so generally phenomenal awesomeness. 
> 
> Parts of this chapter were literally written on July 22, mere days after SDCC, so filling in the gaps and getting to the point where it all connected has been a fascinating exercise. The reunion porn was written almost as a commission for C, and I seem to remember that the request was just 'slow sex from behind' which turned into _this_ hot mess. You're welcome.

Taron [ arrives in San Diego in the late afternoon](https://fyeahegerton.tumblr.com/post/186387576191/taron-egertons-instagram-story-18-july-2019). He spends the car ride to the hotel checking what he missed on Instagram, of course, and Richard’s posted a [ photo from a shoot with W Mag ](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0ERB_fHBON/) and Jesus _Christ_ that’s hot. A frankly bizarre number of the comments are about the lack of socks, which er… is definitely not what Taron’s looking at. Richard’s also reposted [ a story from a video shoot he did](https://maddennfl86.tumblr.com/post/186379171340/better-quality-of-richard-for-w-magazine) with them and Taron is just imagining him walking into his hotel with that look on his face, pushing him down on the bed and… he needs to remember he’s in a car, with a driver he doesn’t know. 

Brandon’s posted [ that photo Jeremy took](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0EKjEuF3Cc/) and it’s been liked by half of Richard’s friends and family. Taron likes it too and has a chuckle at some of the comments. [ Michael and Vas are in Positano](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0J2XuunK7m/) with Kristen Stewart and Stella Maxwell, of all people, who appear to have gotten back together. Not on Instagram but definitely on his phone are photo after photo of Brandon and Charlie — both of them utterly thrilled to see each other — and a couple of selfies of Richard and Charlie because the man is just as much of a sap for that dog as Brandon is.

Taron arrives at the hotel and he gets his bag out — his new favourite [ brown leather bag](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/post/187697382408/an-even-better-photo-of-that-bag) with enough room for everything he needs for a short jaunt. Well, maybe not in winter. But he absolutely adores what Gareth’s given him this trip; the man has really listened about wanting to stretch into colour and be playful, to take the fun he was having with Etro suits into a more casual look. 

He gets himself checked in, meets up with the PR people he’s supposed to have dinner with and go over the schedule. 

He ducks to the bathroom halfway through and texts Richard. 

**7.52pm: what’s for dinner?**

_ 7.53pm: Rigatoni alla Vodka _

There’s a photo of his plate attached.

**7.54pm: wait, are you at ** [ **Craig’s**](https://craigs.la/)**? Have you lost it?**

_ 7.55pm: Yes, we’re at Craig’s. B & I had a chat and decided we don’t care. I mean, _ [ _ still leaving by the back door_](http://www.justjared.com/2019/07/19/richard-madden-brandon-flynn-step-out-for-dinner-in-west-hollywood/)_. Not gonna make it _ [ _ easy_](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0GJKlPBpYP/) _for the _ [ _ bastards_](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0Fv2XBB7yl/)_. _

**7.56pm: I fucking love you.**

_ 7.57pm: I fucking love you too. See you in less than 48 hours!! _

**7,58pm: Cannot fecking wait, my darling.**

And on that note, his brain is telling him it’s 4am and he needs to turn in, so he ventures back to the waiting circus, makes his excuses, and heads back to the hotel.

***

He sleeps for 10 hours and wakes up feeling weird before he remembers where he is. He eats the hotel breakfast in his room, does his ritual, sends Richard his morning text, and then gets dressed in the fabulous floral You Must Create shirt over his white vest, wriggles into his jeans, and puts on the pink suede Wranglers Gareth picked out for him. He checks himself out in the suite’s full length mirror and honestly, [ he is looking _ fine_](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0LApyYAuu5/). He heads over to the convention centre. While he’s waiting at one point, dicking around, he decides to post [ one of the nostalgia pieces](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0G1koGFrRl/) he found at his mam’s this visit, because honestly, he almost doesn’t recognise _ himself_.

His panel’s not till the afternoon but of course, as always, there are signings and photo ops and media. He finds it very hard not to just be the little kid he once was who fell in love with Thra to begin with — there’s an [ honest-to-goodness pop doll of him as a _ gelfling _ and wait, there’s an action figure too](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0G6Z5FFCcB/). Here he is, a boy from a rural Welsh town, from a family that never earned more than 25 grand a year… and [ now he has an action figure](https://youtu.be/vhhlK71V1Js?t=1745). It’s amazing. Just… _ Touch wood_, he thinks immediately though, finds some, knocks on it, _ let’s hope it doesn’t all fall apart_. But seriously, it’s great. _ I’m a bloody action figure_, he thinks, _ I love it love it love it. _He takes a selfie and posts it to Instagram.

Then there’s [ the Netflix press room](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhhlK71V1Js) — pretty standard stuff. He really prefers the one-on-one connections with journos, to be honest. They get to see actual daylight for the [Collider interview](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_6rrGyqK6ho). He spends far too much time talking about technique and Louis’ genius, very, _ very _ enthusiastically. He wasn’t kidding that he’s a fan and a _ purist_.

After that, it’s [ MTV](https://twitter.com/MTVNEWS/status/1152371290264735746), and he has to admit he’s getting quite tired. Josh Horowitz says, “I assume Rian is not a big singer, in the Dark Crystal” and without thinking, Taron responds, “No, it’s one of the few jobs where singing hasn’t…” before his brain catches up with his mouth and he exclaims, “I sing! I _ do _ sing!” and Louis and Lisa are laughing at him, which, honestly, fair play.

Louis says, “I was like, ‘are you crazy?’”

And Taron says again, “I do sing!”

“There’s so much singing!” says Louis.

“I sing in it!” says Taron again, like an idiot, and now they’re all laughing.

“Really?” laughs Josh and Taron says, like it will make this all go away, like he’s clicking his ruby slippers together, “I do sing!” and shakes his head. “I’ve got to stop doing that.”

At long last, it’s 3.30pm and time for the panel itself, with Mark Hamill. Like, _ actual _ Mark Hamill. Like, Luke The-Last-Jedi Skywalker. Sure, theoretically he knew this but voice acting is never the same as being on a stage or a set with another person. Not that his character Rian had much to do with Mark’s SkekTek character anyhow. But now — now, he’s backstage and being introduced and he feels like a gobsmacked little fan. He asks if it’s okay to take a selfie — god, he really _ is _ being a fan — and Mark says sure, [ flings an arm around him and does a pose](https://www.eonline.com/photos/6/the-big-picture-today-s-hot-photos/945633). The look on Taron’s face is _ ridiculous _ but it’s _ Mark Hamill_. Some snapper takes a photo of _ him _ taking the photo and it [ ends up on Mark’s Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0KDFN1lQxl/) so it must be okay? And what the hell is going on that _ Mark Hamill _ is fanboying back at _ Taron_? Did he just say he signed on to the _ Dark Crystal _ project because Taron was involved and Mark’s a _ fan _ of his _ work_? This is just not possible. 

But apparently this really is happening, so he goes through with his plan after all — knowing he was doing a panel with Mark, he’s brought along the call sheet from _ Star Wars _ in 1977 that Emily gave him for his 28th birthday, and he asks Mark if he wouldn’t mind signing it. Mark’s deeply touched, and says of course he will. It’s _ amazing. _

Then they’re [ finally on stage, in Hall H](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-kMCdLD9M8), huge crowd, he’s between Louis Leterrier and Mark, with Lisa Henson next to Louis and it’s all lights and mobile phones pointed at them _ en masse _ and he switches on performance mode — he has to rein in some of the enthusiasm and look like he’s a grown man. It doesn’t help that the moderator, Damian Holbrook, kicks off by asking him about his childhood connection to the show. He talks about having seen the original _ Dark Crystal _ when he was six with his Dad and he’s not kidding — this is still surreal, that he’s a _ gelfling_. It’s like when people ask kids, “what do you want to be when you grow up?” and all of _ his _ dreams have come true.

Damian asks him to talk about Rian and he just can’t help himself. “So,” he says, “I play a gelfling. Always wanted to say that…”

Frankly, though, listening to Mark feels like he’s listening to himself, a bit. Mark says, “I’m the luckiest person in the world!” and talks about what it’s like to get to live your life doing the things that you loved as a kid, and seriously, that’s exactly where Taron’s at right now, he was literally _ just _ thinking that. And Mark’s a _ funny _ bastard too, starts talking about how you don’t expect things to come back, and how odd it is to return to something you were known for _ before_, and the audience starts to catch on that he’s talking about _ Star Wars _ and Taron smiles and slaps his knee a few times. Mark is still talking though, now about presence passes, and he performs a bunch of sounds and breaths, and Taron can’t help gazing at him adoringly, it’s just his _ thing_, right, smart, older, competent men he can look up to. And then Mark is saying “it’s better than drugs and it’s legal!” and what even is Taron’s life any more?

“Only at ComicCon do you get Mark Hamill imitating Kermit the Frog in front of Jim Henson’s daughter and only at ComicCon do you get Luke Skywalker sitting next to Rocketman, so if anyone tells you ComicCon is only for losers…” says Damian. And Taron’s checked out [ Damian’s Twitter account](https://twitter.com/damianholbrook), he’s seen that pinned tweet, knows that Damian and he have more in common than Damian knows. He glances over at the man and nods encouragingly.

But Damian’s going to repay his kindness by embarrassing him. Bloody hell. “I just want to share a little behind the scenes that happened before the panel,” he begins. “Taron and Mark met… and I get to see a lot of fanboy moments, but when you see those two? You’re like, again, only at ComicCon…”

And Taron stumbles in his response like the idiot he is.

“So Mark was in my first role in Kingsman Secret Service,” he says, “But we sadly never met, and I was _ heartbroken_.” He laughs, self-deprecating, “Because — can I swear? Am I allowed to swear? — because it’s Luke Fucking _ Skywalker_, man!” The crowd hollers for him, in the palm of his hand. “You know, for a…” He turns directly to Mark, may as well say this to the man since he’s _ right there_. “From a young age, you know, as you are for so many little boys and girls in the world, all over, you are a hero, and a truly inspiring man and…” Mark is mugging for the cameras — who me? _ Hilarious_. “…and just the nicest person so… Means a great deal…” Taron cannot stop grinning.

It just gets weirder when they go to audience questions but he’s having a _ ball_.

He’s so happy and buzzing when he gets back to his room, it’s like he’s forgotten to have jet lag. Or maybe this manic feeling _ is _ jet lag. Either way, he happily texts Richard a stream of excited commentary on his evening and his selfie with Mark and reiterates how incredibly excited he is to see Richard _ tomorrow omg _ and he thinks he’ll never be able to sleep, but the moment his head hits the pillow, it’s like someone flicked off his switch and he’s out.

***

He has to rush his ritual a little in the morning, since he’s slept through his alarm and he’s due to meet Louis and Lisa and Mark for breakfast. It’s tough to settle into it anyway, knowing that he’s going to _ see _ Richard in person today. Breakfast is fantastic — waffles and bacon and syrup — god, he loves doing media and not having to watch what he eats — and talking with Mark more calmly, listening to his advice about the industry and navigating fandom, and what it’s like to walk that line between being a fan and being the subject of fandom is frankly incredible.

He posts [ Mark’s photo of them to his Instagram story](https://fyeahegerton.tumblr.com/post/186436969606/taron-egertons-instagram-story-20-july-2019) and captions it ‘hero’ because he’s so incredibly grateful.

After breakfast is more media including a [ bizarre interview with Entertainment Weekly sitting on little red mushrooms](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NckL5px9VyY) with a set made of cardboard. He’s feeling the jet lag now, and he’s sure it shows. His voice is scratchy, he has bags under his eyes, and he’s nowhere near as chirpy as he was yesterday.

He texts Richard, who is still in LA, and has been killing time on Instagram.

He takes a wander through the exhibition hall, even though [ the crowds are _ mad_, and he’s flanked by bodyguards and minders](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uJ-LnOU9-Bs). He’s definitely head down, trying to pretend he’s not vibrating out of his skin waiting for Richard to text him. When he does feel the iPhone buzz in his hip pocket, he’s ever-so-casual as he just keeps chatting with the vendor, knowing the text just says, “on our way” and that it’s only an hour-long flight and then they’ll be in the same city again. At least — god, please don’t let the text say they’ve been delayed, or that there’s been an accident or… okay, he checks it the moment they walk away from the booth, and yeah, Richard’s on his way. _ See? Nothing to worry about. _

Then of course there’s radio silence for an hour and then, a single word. _ Landed_. And there’s some kind of Pavlovian response going on in the way he feels his cock thicken slightly just _ thinking _ about seeing Richard. He’s pretty sure that’s never happened to him, ever. That could get awkward. Is that what happens to normal people? How is he supposed to go around just being aroused, in public? Then Richard texts him again.

_ 3.32pm: I cannot fecking wait to see you my darling, Got your little giftie in my pocket. We still on? _

**3.33pm: Yes. God, Richard. Thinking about you does things to me I’ve never experienced.**

_ 3.34pm: I love that, sweetheart. _

**3.34pm: Where are you?**

_ 3.35pm: In hiding. But you know, in hiding with Salma and Angelina and Kumail so 🔥 _

Of course. They’re not allowed out until the event — if anyone sees them, the cat’s out of the bag, essentially. Ugh.

They text on and off for the next few hours, Taron sending snaps of things he sees and taking selfies with fans, Richard sending increasingly lurid descriptions of what he wants to do to Taron to try to make him blush or gasp in public. When Taron complains about that, Richard points out that is exactly the effect he was hoping for. 

[ Come 5.15pm, Hall H is utter, utter madness. ](https://comiccon2019.sched.com/event/RrgC/marvel-studios) He’s heard rumours that people have been queuing for more than 30 hours. Fans are screaming at the stage. There are literally thousands of humans in here — the figure he’s been given is 6,000. Taron is squeezed back against a wall pretending he doesn’t exist, because it’s not about him and he’s not supposed to be here. He’s in disguise — cap, baggy shirt, dodgy shades. Richard texts to say they’ve been given the five minute warning and he’ll see him after. Taron hasn’t bothered to mention he’ll be out here in case it would make Richard more nervous. 

The host, Jessica Choba, gives everyone the low-down and [ then she invites Kevin Feige to the stage](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_C-aHSauS-Q) and the din is deafening. The screen is massive. Taron was in here only yesterday but it hadn’t quite hit him like this, just how _ big _ it is.

Eternals is first up and the crowd goes nuts for Chloé Zhao, as they should. He whoops and hollers with the rest of them. I mean, he has to fit in, right?

And then Kevin says, “Do you guys have any interest in meeting some of the Eternals?” And Taron is bouncing on his heels a little, just to _ see _ Richard, even in the distance.

“Ladies and gentleman, as Ikaris — Richard Madden!” says Feige. Wow, he’s _ headlining_? The crowd is squealing like it’s a Beatles concert. And then there he is. Tight black shirt. Black jeans. Cheek bones that would cut glass. Sculpted chest and tapered waist and Jesus _ Christ, _ he’s stunning. _ His man. _ Taron is mesmerised all over again, like that day Richard walked onto the _ Tiny Dancer _ set when he was sitting near the fire, and threw his arms around him and told him he was _ looking gorgeous, mate _ and Taron was lost entirely and forever. Richard’s waving and smiling and he lifts Chloé up off the ground and swings her around, and Taron glances up for a moment and there’s a huge photo of Richard as David Budd on the screen and that’s not helping the situation in Taron’s pants at all.

They announce Kumail Nanjani and he walks on and Richard embraces him, and then [ Kumail takes a photo of Richard right there on stage](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0MANtgH6IG/), the cheeky bugger, and then it’s a long line of famous names and Taron isn’t paying attention to any of them until Angelina Jolie is announced and the squeal of the girl next to him pierces his reverie and he needs to cover that ear.

Richard is asked who the Eternals are and they’re off… questions, responses. He’s thinking about whether he’ll stay or slink off when Richard says, “I play Ikaris, who is the sexiest… sorry, the most powerful…” like he knows Taron is out there, sneakily listening, and he’s determined to break what remains of Taron’s tenuous grip on sanity. 

And then they go down the line, and everyone says something and less than 10 minutes after Richard walked out, he’s walking off. As Taron turns to walk out, his phone buzzes and of course it’s Richard, saying, _ all done, where are you? _ And he responds, _ Hall H, baby. _ And then adds, cheeky: _ There was this guy I like but he put his arm around Salma Hayek as he left the stage, so clearly he’s straight and I have no chance… _

The dots rise and fall and finally a message comes through. _ Oh, I dunno, I hear he’s “roommates” with that guy from 13RW, you never know your luck. _

And Taron laughs, bright, in love. 

They chat for a little longer, arranging where to find each other and then it’s time. Taron’s been waiting literally months for this. He scrolls back through his photos, finds the right one, and posts it to Instagram, captions it. [ “This was the moment we found out my mate had superpowers. Proud. Love you mate. @maddenrichard” ](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0KLye8lIgx/)

And then he has to take a breath, as he suddenly realises that he has a photo of the pair of them on the night they got together. That it was at the Met Gala, literally seconds after they took this photo, that [ Richard told him Taron was his ‘celebrity exception’](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19434829) and just moments after that they kissed for the first time. Holy _ shit_. And then he blinks a few more times. How on _ earth _ was that less than three months ago? How is it possible that Cannes, the trip to Australia, the US Premiere, singing on huge stages with Hugh and Elton, Glastonbury, finishing _ Dark Crystal_, recording _ Me_ — _ all of that _ — happened within three months? No wonder he sometimes feels like he has whiplash.

***

The Entertainment Weekly party is at FLOAT, the rooftop garden bar at the Hard Rock Hotel, pretty much immediately after the panel is done. [ Everyone who’s anyone is there.](https://ew.com/comic-con/comic-con-2019-party-photos/) The space is called FLOAT due to the massive swimming pool right in the centre, and with the aqua lights near the pool and the purple lights on the trees, it’s like a surreal fairy glen for the stars. Taron utterly loves it.

He talks to various people, thanks everyone for their lovely words about _ Rocketman_, geeks out about Mark and gelflings with anyone who’ll listen, knocks back a beer or two, all the while scanning the crowd for that unmissable grey streak.

When Taron finally spots Richard over in the corner, with Salma and Chloé and a crowd of hangers-on, he’s buzzing out of his skin with anticipation. He’s known they were in the same damn city all afternoon, Richard’s been texting him all damn day, and now he gets to _ touch _ him. He excuses himself from the conversation he was in with Rob Liefield — let’s be clear, [ the Wolverine talk is flattering but far-fetched](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0cDBp2hYCn/) — and works his way through the crowd.

When he reaches his man, at last, at long, long last, he flings his arms around Richard, oblivious to cameras, oblivious to anything apart from Richard, solid, real, warm Richard in his arms, and Richard wraps him tight in strong arms, holds him so close. [ Taron presses his lips fervently to Richard’s cheek](https://lightinlouis.tumblr.com/post/186462207794/shut-up), all his love and pride carried in that act. And Richard closes his eyes, blushing, so exposed, so deeply in love.

And it’s not complicated any more. It just is. 

“I’d forgotten how you smell, love,” says Richard, breathing in Taron’s neck. “What is it?”

“_Uomo_, by Valentino.”

“Of course it is.” He breathes in again, “Mmm, [ like chocolate and coffee and hazelnut](https://fyeahegerton.tumblr.com/post/188440174071/hello-what-does-taron-smell-like).”

Somehow, they manage to step apart and make small talk, but not before Richard has pressed a small bag into Taron’s hand, and if Taron was flushed just reading Richard’s texts earlier, he’s pretty certain he’s now the colour of Mars. He slips it into his pocket, and when someone comes up to steal Richard away for more Marvel PR, Taron gracefully indicates he’ll leave them to it, nods to Richard, and heads to the bathroom to put it on.

In the stall, he brings it out into the light for the first time. It’s slimmer than he expected and slightly larger in circumference than he thought it would be, right up until he realises it’s supposed to go around his balls as well. He shucks his pants and underwear, realises he should probably use the loo for its intended purpose _ before _ he puts the ring on, and then loops the leather around himself, gently presses the studs together to close it — he’s so aware of that quiet click, terrified someone might know what the sound was — and _ god, _it’s snug, even though he’s only at half-mast. His heart is beating at a million miles a minute, though, and he’ll hyperventilate if he’s not careful. He tidies up, pulls his pants and trousers back on and adjusts himself, flushes, and goes out to wash his hands. He inspects himself critically in the mirror — he can’t see a thing but he’s oh so incredibly aware it’s there. He dries his hands and fishes his phone out, texts Richard that he’s dressed as requested, and heads back out into the fray.

Richard catches his eye when he emerges, smiles fondly, wickedly, and proceeds to continue the barrage of smutty texts for the next half hour, until finally, finally, he takes pity and texts a hotel room number and an address, says he’ll see Taron there in 5, and he slips away. Taron looks at the ceiling, takes a deep breath, and grabs another beer, counting the seconds.

***

Taron feels Richard’s length slide into him, slow, so _ slow, _ and the _ stretch _ is everything after so long apart. His body remembers, though, and opens to him, draws his cock deep into him, and Taron’s fingers tighten on the duvet as he breathes in and in and _ in_, panting until Richard is all the way inside him, their pelvises completely flush, chest against Taron’s back, legs tangled between his, lying on their sides in the hotel bed.

Richard strokes a hand down Taron’s exposed hip, kisses his shoulder like a question, so Taron responds, pushes back, grinds into him, needy. Richard slowly, _ slowly _ withdraws, every millimetre a drag inside of Taron like fireflies sparking and he moans aloud, and Richard’s fingertips dig into his flesh, and Richard says, “so _ gorgeous_, Taron, how you take my cock,” as he thrusts back in, inexorable, inescapable, and Taron feels himself sink down a little, untethered, as Richard says, “_Mine, _ ” like it’s been torn from him and Taron whimpers as Richard slowly, _ slowly _pulls out again.

Taron is hard as a rock, his prick jutting stiff out from him and on the next slide in, Richard drags across Taron’s prostate and his cock leaks clear onto the bed sheets. Richard wraps his arm across Taron’s chest and draws him in closer, bites the back of his neck as he rolls his hips, _ out _ and _ in_. 

“Still with me, love?” asks Richard, and Taron says, eloquently, “Hngh?” and Richard laughs. ”I need an actual yes, remember, love?” And Taron focuses, says _ yes_. 

“Up,” says Richard, and taps Taron on the thigh. Taron shuffles onto his knees, heavy cock hanging down beneath him now, and his bollocks fall into place, swinging gently for a moment, as Richard draws back again, almost completely. Taron is suddenly, incredibly sharply aware of the cock ring Richard gave him earlier — how did he forget that was there? And then Richard says, “Ready, my love? I’m going to fuck you hard now, going to make you see stars…”

And Taron feels his balls try and fail to draw up tight, and his heart pounds harder and he grunts out, “Yes, _ God…” _ and then Richard is slamming back into him and he cries out, he’s so _ full _ and Richard is so _ big _ and he can’t… he can’t… Richard is fucking him harder, over and over, and grunting, “_Fuck _ ” and “_T”_, iron grip on his hips, and then there’s a hand between his shoulders, pushing him down and a hand in his hair, pulling his head back, and it’s heaven. The sensation builds and builds and builds inside him, his whole body is on fire, every nerve alight.

There’s a point where the endorphins go off in his brain like fireworks and his body is now the galaxy, every thrust of Richard into him feels diffused into waves of stardust. He cries out, a long, low keen of joy, spreads his legs even wider, arse up in the air and it’s so _ brazen _ and he _ wants _ so much. He lowers his torso for Richard to get even deeper, he can’t hold it back and he gasps out, “Please…” and Richard says, “Yes, darling,” and he comes and comes and comes, every muscle in his body clenching, his back bowed like a cat and Richard crooning, “Yes, beautiful, beautiful boy, that’s it… yes…” as he fucks him through it. Taron feels utterly boneless, over-sensitised, but Richard doesn’t stop and Taron is amazed to discover they’re _ both _ still hard, that he hasn’t ejaculated, and in answer to his confused whimper, Richard laughs and strokes a hand under him, across Taron’s cock and the tight black band around its base, says, “That was so beautiful, my darling. So beautiful. Again, I think…” and Taron’s nipples tighten and he moans as Richard pulls back again, slow again, _ in _ and _ out, _ and Taron pleads with him, “please, please,” and Richard kisses him between his shoulder blades and says, “I love how prettily you beg, sweet thing,” and fucks into him again, and again, and tears form in Taron’s eyes as he shudders with aftershocks.

He’s floating on the edge of intensity, pleasure almost becoming pain when Richard gasps, “oh fuck, oh T, oh _ god, _ ” and his thrusts turn shallow, stuttering, his fingers twisted on Taron’s plump nipples and Taron arches into it, so sensitive, so full, and he comes again, deep electric pulses of pleasure torn from him and into the night, clenching hard on Richard’s stiff length buried deep in him, and Richard groans and holds still, flush against his body, pressing _ in _ and _ in _ and _ in _ as _ he _ comes, thick pulses inside of him, collapses on top of Taron, whose knees give way and the weight of Richard on him feels like safety and love. Richard is kissing his back over and over, feathery. He stays in him, and Taron can feel the slow changes as Richard softens and it’s weirdly more intimate than anything they’ve done before.

Eventually, Richard pulls out, and the supple, wet slide of him feels exquisite and secret.

Richard lies down next to Taron, gazes at Taron with his startling blue eyes and gently strokes across Taron’s brow. “That was incredible, love,” he says. “How do you feel, my darling?”

Taron tries to remember how to word. He gets there eventually. “I’m golden,” he murmurs. “Molten. I love you.”

“And I love you.” Richard strokes down Taron’s broad, bare back again. “I know it’s a lot right now, but I want you to come on my fingers. Do you think you can do that for me?”

Taron whimpers. He’s not sure those words make sense. But he wants to be good for Richard, so he nods. And then he remembers Richard likes it when he asks for what he wants, so he makes an effort. “Please, Richard. I want to be good for you.”

Richard’s eyes flash dark for a moment. “Oh, you are, my boy. So good,” and Taron flushes with the praise. Richard gently turns Taron over onto his back, reaches down and removes the cock ring. He reaches over to the bedside table and puts it down, then there’s the sound of a lid, and the sticky sound of lube. He wraps one hand around the back of Taron’s neck, and gently pushes Taron’s legs apart again as he kisses him, velvety and sweet. He pushes one slick finger into Taron’s loose, sensitive hole and Taron’s breath hitches. Taron is immediately on the edge, muscles quivering, eyes wide and bright as he stares at Richard, open-mouthed, shocked. Richard slips in a second finger, fucks in and out with them, crooks them and whispers, “Come for me, baby,” and Taron keens, arches clear off the bed and shoots so hard it almost lands in his own mouth.

***

The next morning, while Richard’s in the shower, Taron sinks down onto the floor, next to the bed, positions himself where Richard will see him the moment he walks into the room. Taron showered first, so he’s slightly damp, his hair wet with fresh product, his skin clean and scrubbed. Here, naked on his knees, still feeling Richard as a gentle ache around his rim, his nipples slightly pebbled thanks to the cool hotel room air across his chest, he feels himself harden with anticipation and with memories.

He places the bracelet between his slightly spread legs, rests his hands on top of his thighs, waits. He breathes in, out. He starts to float into subspace, his cock thickening even more between his legs, but he’s barely aware of it, a slow pooling of desire melded with devotion. He settles into it, lets it wash over him, waiting.

And then Richard walks in, one hand towelling his hair dry, the rest of him a gorgeous nude statue of muscled flesh, like a Roman sculpture of Adonis or Apollo. Taron gazes at him adoringly until the moment Richard notices him, notices him looking, and Taron immediately lowers his eyes, looks at the floor, can feel the heat in his face, his belly, his rigid penis standing proudly for Richard between his legs.

Richard stops in his tracks and drops the towel. He is breathless, flustered and from where Taron is peeking from under his lashes, he can see Richard’s cock start to stiffen immediately, rising, going from rosy to pomegranate-red to deep plum in the space of a few heartbeats.

“Good morning, Richard,” murmurs Taron, not looking up, a smile playing around his lips. There’s an intoxicating power in being able to affect his man like this, with such a simple thing.

“Do it,” growls Richard, his voice deep and commanding. “Do it, say it. Fuck, I want to hear you say it.”

Taron opens his mouth to talk but then Richard speaks again. “Wait. Look at me while you say it.”

Taron looks up, meets Richard’s deep-blue eyes, eyes filled with lust and possessive intensity, and blushes fiercely. His face is aflame, he can feel it. 

“I love you,” he says, intimate, a gift, everything. “I am on my knees for you, Richard Madden, my love, because I offered this to you and you love me.” 

“Jesus fuck, Taron,” swears Richard softly, reverently. 

Taron looks down for the split second it takes to put his hand unerringly to the bracelet, lifts it up, runs his thumb along its beads. “This is my gift from you, as a symbol and reminder that you love me,” he says, and his voice cracks a little on those last three words. 

“So much, love, ye’ve nae idea…” Richard mutters urgently. 

Taron slips the bracelet onto his right wrist, says, calm, centred, whole, “I choose to be yours, Richard, and trust you to take care of me today._ ” _

“_Mine_,” says Richard, fierce, as he closes the distance to Taron, sinks a hand into his hair, pulls his head back so he’s looking up at him. “_Mine_.” His thick cock swings right in front of Taron’s mouth, and Taron licks his lips without thinking. 

“Let me take care of you, Richard. I want you in my mouth,” he says. “Please.”

Richard crowds into him, one hand still fisted in Taron’s hair, his other hand holding his cock out like an offering. “You want this? Is this what you’re asking for?”

“Yes, fuck, been dreaming of you, your cock,” Taron moans. “Want you deep in my throat. Fuck me, Richard, take my breath away.”

“Fuck, yes,” says Richard and he taps his stiff length against Taron’s cheek. “Open.”

Taron opens his mouth, there on his knees, wanton, hungry and Richard surges into him, his heavy cock filling Taron’s mouth, sliding along his tongue, so big, so much, and Taron almost doesn’t have time to relax his throat before Richard is bumping against the back of it, pulls back as quickly as he thrust in and Taron is liquid, lets his muscles soften and his mouth go slack, his throat open as Richard plunges back in and all the way down, holds Taron’s head still and fucks his face, and it’s everything, so intense, the musky fresh smell of Richard’s bollocks every time Taron is pushed against Richard’s belly, the sensation of the drag and thrust past the tight column of his windpipe, how he can’t get a full breath, his head held in a vice-like grip, and he just lets himself drift away, wanted, loved, blissed out, there for Richard’s pleasure, and right, like a song in the perfect key.

Then Richard is pulling back and he gasps, “God, gonna come… gonna… oh fuck… _ Taron… _”

Taron just holds his mouth open, breaths in, raggedly, nods, and Richard pumps himself, firm strokes, groans out, “_Mine,” _ aims his cock and comes on Taron, on his tongue, his lips, his chin, marking his man.

It’s the most bizarre thing, but Taron feels proud, like he just nailed a scene, and he couldn’t have done better. He’s utterly content.

When Richard’s breathing returns to something approximating normal and he looks down, he seems to catch himself, says, “Oh my god, I’m sorry…” and it startles Taron a little.

“What?” he says, a little dopey on endorphins. And then he gets it. “Are you kidding? That was _ amazing_. All of it.”

“Really?” says Richard. He caresses Taron’s cheek with one thumb, then down his jaw, collects a little of his come and pushes it into Taron’s mouth. Taron licks Richard’s thumb, sucks it in, and Richard says, “Such a good boy. My boy.” 

Taron grins up at him. “Yours,” he says, and he sighs happily, leans his head into Richard’s palm.

“What do you need?” asks Richard, indicating the rigid cock still between Taron’s thighs.

“Cuddles?” says Taron. “And then breakfast. I’m famished. The appetiser was delicious though…”

Richard throws his head back and guffaws, at that. He reaches out a hand to Taron and helps him off his knees. “C’mon then, into the bed.” Taron uses yesterday’s vest to wipe his face off, throws it towards his bag, and clambers up next to Richard, snuggles in. Richard strokes his hair. “I cannot believe I found you.”

Every so often, Taron rubs himself against Richard’s thigh, enjoys the tingles of the sensation, but he also enjoys feeling his cock soften as they talk, about love and each other, and the day ahead, as the tension of wanting seeps away into the background hum of being held.

“Sure you don’t need anything else?” asks Richard eventually.

“I’m sure,” says Taron, lazily kissing Richard’s shoulder, and then stretches, hums.

“I bought you something,” says Richard. “In Lecce. When I knew that we’d miscommunicated but I didn’t know… anyhow, it’s in my bag.”

“Dickie, you didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to, love. You okay to face the day?”

“Never better.” He extricates himself from the tangle of limbs and sits up, gives Richard room to move. “Should I just wait here?”

“Let’s… um. Let’s get dressed and I’ll order breakfast and then I’ll give it to you.”

Taron agrees, easily. Everything feels easy with Richard right there. He heads into the en-suite to wash his face and apply deodorant and cologne, so he doesn’t smell like Richard all day — although he kind of wishes he could. He fishes out the clean pair of boxers he stowed away in his satchel, anticipating exactly this eventuality, puts them on with yesterday’s trousers, and steals one of Richard’s ridiculously comfortable [ plain black T-shirts](https://www.instagram.com/p/B0LpCjhF2XL/). 

Richard comes back into the room, also dressed, more’s the pity, carrying a medium-sized package wrapped in tissue paper. Taron folds his legs up on the bed, and pats the spot next to him. 

“I ordered smoothies and fruit, chia and seeds, coconut yoghurt, that sort of thing,” offers Richard. “Coffee for you. I’m back in training as of next week… boo, hiss.”

“Ugh, not long for me either. Sounds like good transition food though.”

“So,” begins Richard. 

“So…” says Taron. 

“It’s nothing expensive. But I saw it and it made me think of you.”

“All right.”

Richard hands him the package. Huh. It’s heavier than he expected, based on the size. He unwraps it carefully. 

“It’s not your usual style…” says Richard. 

“Stop worrying, love. If you picked it out for me, then I’m going to love it.”

He gets to the bottom of the tissue and sees white plaster, with a small hook. He turns it over — it’s a [ simple square, blue waves the colour of Richard’s eyes, and a lighthouse, white and red in relief](https://www.artefattolab.it/prodotto/b_15x15_0031/). He doesn’t speak Italian, but Shakespeare doesn’t need translation. 

He gets a little choked up, looking at it, tears welling. 

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds / Admit impediments. Love is not love / Which alters when it alteration finds…” he says, a little awed. 

“I hoped you’d know it,” says Richard, quietly. “That’s my love for you, Taron. An ever-fixèd mark. No matter what happens. Whatever the world throws at us. No matter how far apart we are.” Taron reaches out a hand to him, there on the bed, and Richard takes it, keeps talking — which is good, because Taron is speechless. “I think you might be my soulmate — or one of them, at least. I fall hard and I fall fast, but I’ve never fallen so hard and so fast as I did for you. I think I was in half in love with you by the time I’d finished hearing you sing, that first day at Abbey Road, and I was absolutely gone when you became my partner in crime pranking Jamie and Dexter. And then you kissed me, at the Met. You were so fucking _ brave_, Taron. Oh, love. Have I made you cry?”

Taron sniffles, dashes a hand across his cheek. “Yep, you know me; I’m like a leaky tap.” He smiles. Richard leans forward and kisses the tears away. 

“So, anyway,” says Richard. “It’s tacky as hell and I fully expect it to end up in the bathroom.”

“Back of the toilet door…” laughs Taron, weakly.

“Perfect.”

“I love you, so much, Richard. I never… I never _ expected _ you. You talk about me being brave… But you’ve just taken everything in your stride, and to give me this, to say, out loud and clearly, ‘I love you as you are, and I don’t want to change a thing about you’ — I don’t think you can ever know what that means to me.”

He lifts their hands, where their fingers are entangled, and kisses the back of Richard’s knuckles.

Richard smiles fondly, turns their hands around and returns the favour.

“Well, then,” says Taron. “If we’re done being soppy, I have a wicked plan for the day.”

“Of course you do. Let’s hear it.”

“You know that extra bag I wouldn’t let you look in when we got back here last night?”

“Yes?” says Richard, suspiciously. 

“It might,” says Taron, “contain a [ C3PO mask and a Darth Vader mask and an _ extremely _ loud shirt](https://fyeahegerton.tumblr.com/post/186468223381/taron-egertons-instagram-story-21-july-2019)… Wanna sneak around SDCC with me?”

***

They’re almost done for the day, about to go their separate ways again, far too soon, when Richard blurts out, “Come home with me,” and Taron says, “What?” and Richard seizes his hand and implores him, “Come home with me. I can’t say goodbye just yet. Just…” and Taron interrupts him, before either of them can allow rational thought to interfere, “Yes,” and they both laugh, a little, and Richard says, “Will I meet you at the airport?” at the same time as Taron says, “Guess I’d better change my flight.”

In the end, they go together, and on their way to the airport, in the car, quiet, trying not to give anything away, Richard’s phone rings and it’s Gemma calling from London, just awake and wanting to chat. Taron can’t hear what she says, but Richard responds, “Yeah, it went well… no, he didn’t say anything to me… I know, I wish you were both here too. Still no word on a date?” and then he listens for a minute and says, “No, Taron’s with me,” and then, “Sure, hang on.” He hands the phone over and Taron looks at him quizzically but takes it.

“Hello?” he says.

“Hi Taron!”

“Hey Gemma…”

“Sorry I didn’t get to see more of you at Glastonbury,” she says. “Saw you in the distance a few times. It’s always such a blast, hey?”

“Uh, yeah, 100%,” he lies through his teeth. 

“You looking after my leading man?”

Taron glances at Richard.

“I’m one of the people doing that, I guess. Bit late if you’re warning me off,” he grins.

“Not quite,” she says. “Listen, Richard’s someone I care about a lot, and I met [ Brandon and Charlie in March](https://www.instagram.com/p/Buw55G9lgy-/?igshid=pw9o21lzsgzc). He’s a sweet kid. They’re good together. I know how Richard feels about you. I guess I’m just saying be careful.”

“I am,” says Taron. “We are.”

“Well, good, then, and I look forward to seeing you all back in London. Pass me back to Rich?”

“Sure. See you!” He hands the phone back, and Richard takes it, looks apologetic. He listens for a moment, nods, says, “Can’t wait to work with you either. See you soon!” and he hangs up.

Taron’s put a few things together by then. “Wait, is she also in _ Eternals_?”

“Contracts aren’t signed yet but yes. Her, and Kit too. It’s going to be phenomenal. She phoned to ask how the panel went and whether Kevin said anything further about her role. The secrecy around these films is so intense, sometimes even the actors don’t know what’s happening until it happens.”

Switching flights has simply meant changing his ticket to Nice to leave from LAX in a few days instead — he’s still got a little time to make it to Elton’s big fundraising bash — and jumping on Richard’s private jet instead, courtesy of Marvel. He’s quite amused by the strength of the air conditioning, and Richard keeps saying, “Bit breezy, baby,” which makes Taron crack up so he [ posts a flippant story](https://fyeahegerton.tumblr.com/post/186436966640/taron-egertons-instagram-story-20-july-2019) with it blowing his hair around before he turns it down a bit. 

And then they’re off and it’s a quick flight, and a car will be at the airport to pick them up.

***

Brandon greets them at the door, a scraggly ball of scruff in his arms, his face lit up with a huge smile, and his blue eyes glittering. “Charlie,” Brandon says to the dog, “This is Taron, he’s _ family, _ so _ be nice_.” Charlie licks Taron’s outstretched hand.

“Is there anyone he can’t charm?” says Richard, amused.

“Who, Charlie or Taron?” laughs Brandon.

“Let’s just say both,” says Richard, and Taron protests, while chucking Charlie under the chin.

Brandon throws one arm around Taron and kisses him on the temple.

“Oy,” says Taron. “That’s _ my _move!” and he kisses him on the temple in return. As Brandon laughs indulgently at him, Taron moves past him into the apartment and Richard bends down to greet Charlie.

“I hear you’ve been getting into the garbage bin, you naughty boy. I realise it’s not your fault. Who leaves chips in the garbage, eh? Silly Brandon.”

“Hey!” says Brandon, and Richard kisses him quiet before he can say anything else. Brandon shuts the door behind him with one hand and then turns around to smack Richard playfully on the butt. 

“Can you show Taron where he’s sleeping, please, stunner, and I’ll get the drinks sorted.” Brandon puts Charlie down, and the dog toddles off, to investigate Taron a bit more. 

Taron puts his bag on the floor in the spare room, looks around. It’s a nice enough apartment: clean white walls, tidy. A few posters in frames, one of James Dean in _ Rebel_, of course — anyone with half an eye can see Brandon’s been aiming for that look more and more, and he’s utterly rocking it, [ the denim, the smoulder](https://www.instagram.com/p/B2XZ0rCl0xH/) — and another of Gielgud as Romeo at the Old Vic in 1929, and that one is clearly Richard’s. 

The day-bed looks comfortable — it’s a convertible type, and it’s been converted already, laid out with fresh sheets and a pile of pillows. In the corners of the room are adjoining desks, and Taron can just imagine Brandon and Richard working in here together when they’re both at home for any length of time. But they’ve only got a day or so together this trip — then Richard’s off to Pinewood, Taron’s off to the AIDS fundraiser in Antibes and Brandon’s heading to San Francisco. It’s always so _ fleeting_.

He heads back out to the living room and Brandon hands him a Peroni. He looks at it, takes a swig, and says, “Brilliant, mate, that’s my favourite.”

“I know,” says Brandon with a smile. “Rich phoned ahead so I stocked up.”

“We’ve also got Korean Fried Chicken coming for dinner,” says Richard, “and if I saw correctly, Brandon’s stashed a few other things you might like in the fridge for snacks.”

Taron stares at him. It’s genuinely the most touching thing Brandon could have done. Brandon shrugs. 

“I wanted to you feel at home,” he says, folding his legs up under himself on the couch, and sipping at his own beer.

Richard sits down opposite him and pats the space next to him for Taron to sit too, so he does. He’d been worried at first, about invading their space on such extremely short notice — that he’d be an awkward third wheel or that it would be as if Richard just phoned Brandon like a 1950s housewife and told him to expect company — but it’s _ so _ far from that. Sure, Brandon is going out of his way to make sure that Taron is comfortable, but it’s more like they’re all in it together, and even though it’s his first time in their home, he can just feel himself relaxing.

The next thing Richard says just doubles down on that. “Talking about home,” he says. “In a little while, you and I are going to be back in London. And [Brandon will probably join us](https://imgur.com/a/Rp6SSlv) [whenever he can](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/post/187487945873/i-dont-have-a-link-but-a-girl-who-is-definitely). Have you thought much about how we’re playing this? Because we’ve been discussing it.”

Taron swallows a gulp of beer, puts the bottle down on the coffee table. “Have you?”

“Yes,” says Brandon. “About inviting you to live with us. Richard’s got this three-bedroom place over there, and we could have a room each, but spend our nights in whoever’s room we want to.”

“Not asking you to give up your flat, love,” says Richard rapidly, “Unless you wanted to. You could.”

“And when you’re here in LA, we’ll have a place for you too. We’ll find somewhere bigger, with room for all of us,” offers Brandon.

“Wow,” says Taron. It’s a lot to process.

“If it’s too much…” begins Richard.

“No, no,” says Taron. “Just… God, I’ve been thinking about all this stuff… what did you call it? The glass closet. And setting the record straight. Er… queer. And how if we’re all ‘roommates’ in London and LA, does that play into their cosy narrative because we couldn’t _ possibly _ be together…”

“Well,” laughs Richard, “I’ll just have to walk Charlie with you in Hyde Park while I hold your hand.”

Brandon laughs at that, too, but then he looks thoughtful. “So what are we saying?” he begins. “That when the Sun spots you two running around London together and it [ makes up a ridiculous story that we’ve split up](https://www.thesun.co.uk/tvandshowbiz/10333483/richard-madden-brandon-flynn-fallout/), we just let that happen?”

“I think so,” says Richard, slowly. “We definitely ignore anything like that. We keep doing what we’ve been doing — together for private moments, no matter how public, if you know what I mean…”

“Like the graduation?” asks Taron.

“Exactly,” says Richard. “But apart for the professional engagements. So we don’t become the story.”

“So I should tell Versace I don’t want you at the Christmas party?” asks Brandon.

“Absolutely. God, have I been invited to that?” Richard sounds a bit shocked.

“Yup. On one hand it’s lovely, because they’re treating us like any other couple. And on the other, like you say, if you come, _ we’ll _ be the story rather than Versace.”

“Okay,” says Taron, thoughtful.

“Okay?” asks Richard, hopeful.

“Yeah,” says Taron. “But there’d better be room in our kitchen for the _ Troubadour _sign, or the deal’s off.”

***

Dinner was superb —[ although nothing will _ ever _ beat the chicken he had actually _ in _ Korea that time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81OBIsQoQIc&vl=ko) — and now he needs to loosen his slacks a touch. Richard’s sitting on the couch, and Brandon’s lying down with his head in Richard’s lap. Taron’s on Richard’s other side, with another beer. It’s another of his fucking favourite things, honestly, a [ _ cwtch _ on the sofa](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/post/187937600243/winchesterandwinchester-x), watching a movie, [ snuggled under a duvet for a date](https://twitter.com/egertonupdates/status/718701475296329728?lang=en). 

“I’ve just had a potentially daft idea…” he says to Richard. “You said something about a romantic getaway, just us? You know I own a camper van. How do you feel about a jaunt around Wales before _ Eternals _ starts photography?”

“I think that sounds just lovely, T,” says Richard.

“Would that be okay, Brandon, if I steal him away from you when he’s already about to be gone for ages?” asks Taron.

“I already told you,” says Brandon, looking up at him. “It’s not stealing when he’s yours, too, Taron. I thought we all agreed it’s a timeshare?”

Taron smiles warmly at that, loved, welcomed in. And all of a sudden, he needs to be in a slightly different spot, slides off the couch, sinks down to his knees on the floor, leaning against Richard’s leg, and Richard’s hand goes with him, stroking his fingers through Taron’s hair, and it’s just _ blissful_. It’s like it combines that snuggly feeling with tendrils of subspace, and it’s so, so comfortable, exactly where he’s meant to be. He’s… liberated. All the weight off his shoulders. 

He looks up at Brandon, though, unsure what it is that Brandon might be seeing here, unsure what he thinks of it. Richard said, this morning, that Taron was brave and so he resolves to be, again.

“Brandon,” he begins, tentatively. “Are you okay with this?”

“With what, T?”

“Me, er… on my knees like this,” he says, awkward and a little embarrassed.

“Darling, it’s part of who you are, who you both are,” says Brandon, turning over on Richard’s lap so he can look at Taron properly. “I’m not going to ask you to be in a closet in our own home.”

Taron’s a little speechless at that, for a moment or two. And then he recovers his wits.

“Oh my god, Brandon, I think I love you,” says Taron. Brandon smirks, a little. “But not like that…” Taron hurries to add.

“I know, I know. ‘[Too much pressure](https://fyeahegerton.tumblr.com/post/189083465481/lets-talk-about-sex-baby)’, I think you said? Besides, I might be fine with this but I don’t want to be there for anything much kinkier. I’m about as vanilla as they come,” Brandon reassures him, and he turns back onto his back, smiles up at Richard.

Richard’s beaming at both of them, stroking Brandon’s hair now. “Are we ready to watch the movie, then, if you two are quite done making my heart swell to five times the size any man should be expected to endure?”

“Ready,” says Taron, and he reaches up a hand to Brandon, over his shoulder, and Brandon takes it, comforting, connected. Taron sighs. “I could get used to this…” he says.

Richard squeezes the back of Taron’s neck, strokes down his shoulder, and presses play. “Me, too, love. Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... How are we feeling? I'm with T on the floor getting my hair stroked and feeling all the loves.
> 
> A couple of final thank yous for this week: A lot of the links here are things I noticed or saved at the time, because I was already writing when these events occurred... but thanks to fyeahegerton on tumblr for saving Taron's Instagram stories and thanks to my friend J for the discussion about love languages and how you can make a metamour feel more comfortable in your home without words.
> 
> Thanks to the tapatalk LGBTIQ+ forum for filling in the gaps about when Richard flew to San Diego and what Brandon was doing during that time. 
> 
> Congratulations on your Golden Globe nomination and your SAG award nomination, Taron — I’m so excited for you! — and thanks for literally writing "I love you, Richard" on Richard's instagram this week.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and see you next week for the epilogue!!


	19. epilogue: laughing fit to burst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taron makes a speech; Richard calls his mother; Brandon watches a press conference.
> 
> From everyone's POV, Taron's a winner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for cheering me on from the beginning of this adventure. _I Just Love a Bromance_ was my first ever fic and I wasn't sure I could do this (I mean, I knew I could _write_ but this is different).
> 
> Thanks to Em who has been there from the very beginning, even though this isn't her fandom. Thanks to [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus), my partner in crime throughout this whole thing — it'll be weird next week when you have a chapter to post and I don't. Thanks to drinkingstars for checking my 1917 stuff since she’s seen it and I haven’t. 
> 
> This chapter is the first departure from the rest of the fic — my imagined future rather than my imagined present. I hope you enjoy the wishful thinking...

_seven months later_

“I’m doing it,” says Taron to Richard, in an urgent undertone. “If I win. You still okay with it?”

“I’ve come to terms with it, love,” says Richard, but he’s smiling. “Game face on, _ mo chrìdhe_, here it comes.”

“And the Oscar goes to… Oh, I’m so glad it’s you!” says Olivia Colman. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. But I am. Taron Egerton for his role as Elton John in _ Rocketman… _” 

There’s a rushing sound in Taron’s head then, white noise, and the world slows down. He finds himself turning to Richard like he’s moving through molasses, and Richard’s grinning at him and then Taron’s leaning towards him like it’s the most natural fucking thing in the world and then he kisses Richard on the lips and Richard’s kissing him back and then they’re standing up and Richard is applauding him and so is everyone else and _ oh my fucking god he just won an Oscar_. Elton grasps him by the elbows and just nods at him, saying “I’m so bloody proud of you,” and Dexter pats him on the shoulder as he passes him.

Over the roar in his ears, as he moves towards the stage, he vaguely hears the voice-over intone, “This is the first Academy Award and the first nomination for Taron Egerton.”

He gets onto the stage and it’s kind of incredible that it’s Olivia handing him the golden statuette, given that they chatted about this exact possibility back in [ November at the Evening Standard Awards](https://www.standard.co.uk/go/london/theatre/evening-standard-theatre-awards-olivia-colman-taron-egerton-a4293776.html), and she is looking at him like everyone’s favourite eccentric aunt, and he can tell by the sparkle in her eye that she’s got something planned.

“As one queen to another,” she starts, “may I be the first to congratulate you?” And he laughs, on Elton’s behalf, and takes the award from her, kisses her on the cheek, says, “Your majesty,” and then she steps back to give him access to the microphone and well, here goes nothing.

He steps up to the microphone and looks out across the lights, and all the cameras, at all the glittering costumes and the jewels, and his fellow actors, their partners, and all the crew and others who make this industry something he loves, who create these films he is so blessed to be able to work in. He takes a deep breath. 

“A wise man once asked me what being honest would look like…” he says. “Well, Elton, here goes.” 

“My name is Taron David Egerton, and I drink a bit too much, I’m a melancholy bastard sometimes, and I’m demisexual. If you don’t know what that means, don’t worry. I had to look it up too.” There’s a smattering of laughter across the murmurs as people realise what’s just been said. Taron raises his voice a little.

“I cannot tell you how proud I am of our little film. Of what it says about love, and brotherhood and healing. Everyone deserves to be loved and loved properly. Regardless of your sexuality. And maybe especially when your sexuality isn’t one of the conventional ones. 

“I’m supposed to thank some people…

“I never imagined for a moment when I sang ‘Your Song’ as my audition piece for RADA that I would one day be accepting an Oscar for playing one of the men who wrote it. And Elton — your friendship…” Taron pauses to wipe his eyes. “Here I go…” He smiles, watery. “Your friendship over this past year has changed my life.”

“Richard. God, Richard, where do I start? Your friendship and then your love has been the most incredible thing that’s ever happened to me. I cannot even begin to thank you enough.” He finds Richard in the audience, locks eyes with him. “I love you.”

And Richard, sitting right there next to Brandon, he must know the cameras are on him, mouths back to Taron, _ I love you too_. It takes Taron a moment to recover from the enormity of that — here, in public. 

“Dex — thank you for your faith in me and for bringing out the best in everyone you work with. And of course Matthew Vaughn, without whom my career would have been very different.”

“And now I have to compete with an orchestra.” He chuckles. “Perhaps I should sing the rest of this?” Laughter again from his peers.

“Seriously though, I have to thank everyone at Paramount, and Gareth and Gavin and me Mam.” He raises the little golden statue above his head in one hand. “And to all my boys in Aber — but especially J — this one’s for you!”

What follows can only be described as pandemonium.

***

Richard called his mother yesterday. There’s a plan. Now he just has to set it in motion. He texts, in case she followed through and actually is awake at 3am watching a film he was in get Best Picture — he still can’t believe _ that _ happened either but _ 1917 _ swept the awards.

He gets a text back reasonably quickly, and it says, simply, “We’re all so proud of you love. Time for a call? If not, all good, we’ll take care of it all in the morning.”

He ducks into a corner and calls her — he just wants to hear her voice, even if it’s for three seconds, knows he’ll get the real story that way.

“Hey, Ma,” he says.

“My son, the Oscar winner.” And she’s warm and light, considering the hour, and it’s a load off immediately.

“Not quite, Ma, just the film. And Sam, the director. And Roger Deakins, the cinematographer. And my leading man for _ Rocketman_, obviously. And Julian, the costume designer for that too. Let’s face it, everyone _ but _ me, when ye get down to it.”

“Well, you’re always a winner to me, sweetheart. But about tomorrow. We’ll book a cottage for you first thing, like we agreed. Da said specifically to tell you that all the places he’s looking at have two queen beds but he wants to know if you need three.”

“Two will be fine.” 

“We’ll see the three of you in a few days, love. Enjoy yourself! And give those gorgeous men of yours a kiss from me.”

“I will, Ma. I love you.” He hangs up.

Richard’s hand has automatically gone to his chest, as if he can still his heart. He presses in, and breathes deeply, a little short of breath and light-headed, and then someone comes past with a drinks tray, so he takes a glass of bubbly and drains it off, puts the glass back on the tray, apologetic and takes another. He sips that one. He squares his shoulders and turns back to the room, scans and finds Taron talking with Colin Firth, in a little clutch of his _ 1917 _ and _ Rocketman _ castmates, actually, and Awkwafina chatting with Brandon nearby. He heads towards them, puts his hand on Taron’s shoulder.

“Ah, there you are, Richard,” says Colin. “Congratulations to us!” He clinks his glass against Richard’s, and drinks.

“I was hardly in it for much, Colin, and neither were you. I think that award’s more for Sam and Roger — and damn me if they don’t deserve it. It’s _ art_.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Colin admonishes him. “Performance of your career so far, if you ask me.”

“All good?” asks Taron.

“Aye,” says Richard. “Although I expect Ma will have half the town knocking her door down once the rest of them hear about it.”

Elton appears at Taron’s elbow, resplendent in Gucci, and Taron turns to greet him, kisses him on both cheeks. 

“My boy!” says Elton, ever the doting Swarovski-clad uncle, “I am so, so proud of you.”

“Sorry we didn’t win for the song,” says Taron, “but it was a pleasure to sing with you, as always.”

“Oh, never mind that, Blodwyn. I’m just glad _ Frozen 2 _ beat the _ Lion King _ after what they did to it!”

“You’re so naughty, Sharon, I love it,” says Taron.

"But seriously, Taron. You deserve all the accolades.”

“Just following in your footsteps, old fruit. Out here living my truth,” says Taron. 

“I never did thank you in person, Elton,” Richard pipes up. 

“You are more than welcome, Dickie,” says Elton, with a wink. “If only I were a few years younger, you wouldn’t have had a chance though.”

A blonde woman with a head mic pops into their little circle and cheerfully says, “Media for you in 10, Taron, space 3A. I’ll be back to collect you.” And then she’s gone before any of them can say boo. 

“Well, this’ll be a hoot,” says Taron. 

“Oh, [ I can think of worse press conferences](https://www.eonline.com/au/news/922743/colin-firth-and-wife-livia-make-first-public-appearance-since-affair-and-stalking-scandal),” says Colin, and Richard cringes as Taron says ‘oof’ — it’s [the first awards season without Livia](https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/dating/colin-firth-wife-livia-giuggioli-split-marriage-a9246946.html) and everyone’s very aware of it. They all laugh, a little awkward.

Andrew Scott comes up to them, back from the bar, breaking the tension, and Richard introduces him to Brandon. [They bonded on the _ 1917 _ press circuit](https://twitter.com/richardmupdates/status/1202312224800411649), minor characters as they were, and with a fair bit in common. 

“Lovely to meet you… I’ve heard _ a lot _ about you,” says Andrew, in that Irish lilt. 

And Brandon bats his eyelashes and says, “Oooh, I think you forgot to tell me he was a flirt, Richard…” and Richard shrugs and says, “I didn’t notice, babe, I had my hands quite full!”

Taron swats Richard on the butt for that, and then Jamie is coming up with Kate to say goodnight, because of the kids, and they commiserate with him again on such a narrow loss. 

“Happy to lose to Al Pacino _ any _ day,” says Jamie. 

“Good night, Jamie,” says Taron. “Thank you for everything and sorry I forgot to actually thank you.”

“I’ll never forgive you, Taron. May it haunt you,” Jamie says, but he’s grinning.

“All right, all right,” says Richard, “No cursing the talent.” He turns to Taron, and fusses with his bowtie, smooths down his velvet lapels. “You ready, love?”

“As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Right on time, headset woman is back and Taron follows her to the next room, and Brandon and Richard follow at a discreet distance.

***

It’s the usual insanity, thinks Brandon. Like, flashbulbs _ everywhere _ and people grabbing and pushing, and it’s just a bit intense, you know? Like, calm _ down _ already.

Taron’s so smooth. He just takes up his mark like he was born to it, even though Brandon knows he wasn’t. Like, the accent gives him away sometimes, but you wouldn’t _ know _ looking at him now, chiseled jaw and velvet tuxedo and crisp white shirt and smooth shaven cheeks with that bit of blush and the touch of eyeliner, and _ god damn _ but the man is _ gorgeous. _

The journalists are already calling things out, yelling, “Taron, Taron,” and “Over here,” and Brandon knows he needs to get used to that, but it mostly only happens to _ him _ at fashion things and he can handle it a lot better when the people yelling things at him have hot Italian accents.

Anyhow. Where were we? Oh yes, Taron’s in front of the mic and he’s just so completely composed, smiling on cue, smouldering like he does, ready for all comers. Wait, that sounds way filthier than he meant it to… 

Oh well.

The woman introducing Taron lays down the rules and that’s a good thing, like, these people would clearly _ eat _ Taron _ alive _ given the chance.

“Okay, gentleman in the red, on the left…”

“Congratulations on your win, Taron. Sorry, this is going to be about your er… ‘disclosure’, not the film.”

“All good,” says Taron, “I expected that.” The journalists all laugh. It’s mostly friendly laughter. Brandon looks around and tries to calculate how many of them play for the same team. 

“You’ve said a number of times in the past that you’re straight. Is that still the case?” asks the man. Brandon thinks he looks hopeful and knows for a fact he’s going to be disappointed. He’s blond, and a bit on the sporty side and just _ not _ Taron’s type. “As you suggested, I looked up demisexual…” There’s a smattering of giggles and Brandon looks around to give a death stare to the nearest twit who thinks that’s _ funny_. “… and it doesn’t seem to be contradictory…” 

“Thanks for the question, Ron, and for the opportunity to clarify that. I’ve been moving away from using that word, ‘heterosexual’, about myself. I’m not ready to use any word other than demisexual for now, though. It’s still accurate to say ‘I’m not gay’ but yes, I’m comfortable to acknowledge that straight is _ probably _ not the most accurate descriptor, right now.” He shrugs, and laughs. “To be very frank, [ I’ve been giving you hints all year](https://ahandsomechicken.tumblr.com/post/189588470044/i-can-finally-say-unironically-that-i-have). Next question?”

“Taron, do you think playing Elton is what made you realise this about your sexuality?”

“Hi Cliff, it’s lovely to see you. Elton was absolutely instrumental in this realisation, but not in the way you’re suggesting. We’ve become very close since the making of _ Rocketman _and we’ve got a lot in common.”

“Elton says in his autobiography that he wasn’t really interested in sex till he was 23 and fell in love with John Reid. Are you saying Elton is demisexual too?”

“That’s not for me to say. You’ll have to ask him. Ah, yes — you, in the pink…”

“Hi, Taron, Jane from the New York Times. Congratulations on your win. Are you worried this will affect the sort of roles you’re offered?”

“Am I worried winning an Oscar for Best Actor will affect the sort of roles I’m offered? No, darling, but in the short term I’ll be filming _Kingsman 3_ this summer anyhow, so we’ll see what damage _ that _ does to my reputation...” This time there’s genuine laughter — he’s winning them over!

The handler has a schedule to keep to, though. She points to another reporter, this time a slender man in a very shiny suit. 

“Thanks for taking questions, Taron! When you said [ at the Attitude Awards that there was “still time”](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/post/188252742173/oh-my-god-he-said-not-a-gay-man-instead-of), is this what you meant?” says the man. _ Oh yes_, thinks Brandon, _ you’re one of ours. _

“Erm,” says Taron. “Kind of but not really? That was a totally off the cuff response meaning, ‘you’ve all got no idea’, but I didn't have any concrete plans to come out at that point in time, no.”

“Geert…” says the woman with the headset.

“Hello, Taron, Geert from the Hollywood Foreign Press. I interviewed you last year…”

“I remember, hello.”

“In that interview, we talked about gender and identities. Have you anything else to say about that tonight?”

“Thanks for that question, Geert, and thank you for [ asking that question the way you did that first time](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/post/189548189983/geert-i-recently-read-that-you-are-quite). It allowed me much more space to answer than some of the other people did, who used narrow labels. I’m not sure I do have anything to say about gender apart from what I’ve said already though, that [ I don’t accept the strict boundaries of ‘male’ and ‘female’](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/post/189548030333/i-agree-says-egerton-im-not-someone-who). I’m not coming out tonight as nonbinary or anything like that — sorry, you don’t get a two-for-one — but I will say that if you look at me and all you see is ‘a man’ then you’re probably missing some of the nuance that’s actually going on. Thank you so much for your question.”

“Uh… yes, you…” Headset woman is pointing again. So rude, really.

“Hi, there, Shana from EW. You said in the Rocketman DVD extras that [ you and Richard Madden have fallen in love a little bit](https://theplaceinourheartswherewehide.tumblr.com/post/186825099385/as-well-as-having-jamie-in-the-film-who-i-just). Was that a veiled comment that you’re seeing each other?”

“Hi Shana. Gee. Did I say ‘a little bit’? Wow, clearly a master of understatement there. Next!” Taron grins at her, knowing what's coming, resisting looking to the side where he knows Richard is waiting.

“Hi Taron, Shabaz from Girlfriend Magazine in Australia. You [ commented “marry me” on one of Richard’s Instagram posts last year](https://ahandsomechicken.tumblr.com/post/186755103574/bros-being-dudes-being-pals-1-5-by-taron-egerton). Was that a serious proposal then?”

“I think maybe you have too much time on your hands, Shabaz. What on earth are you doing trawling through the comments on Richard’s Instagram posts? I hope they’re paying you _ extremely _ well for that. But nah, sorry to disappoint, that was casual flirting between mates.”

It’s at this point that Richard steps forward from the sidelines and stands beside Taron, the pre-arranged agreement that he would once the questioning turned to him. Naturally, that means the shouting doubles.

“Richard! Richard!” yells one reporter. “Does this mean you've [ broken up with Brandon Flynn](https://www.thesun.co.uk/tvandshowbiz/10333483/richard-madden-brandon-flynn-fallout/)?”

Taron laughs out loud at that. “Wait,” he says, “Aren’t you from the _ Sun_? Who let you in here?”

And Richard says, quietly as ever when he’s nervous, "Come on, lads, you know me better than that. No comment."

He turns to Taron. “Everything okay here, love?” Taron leans over and kisses Richard’s temple and oh shit, that’s Brandon’s cue. 

It occurs to Brandon that this is one of those moments in life, where you make a decision and it changes everything. He thinks back to being a teenager, and what it felt like finding out James Dean’s response to being asked if he was gay. He'd said, ‘I’m not a homosexual but I'm also not going to go through life with one hand tied behind my back.’ That’s Brandon. That’s all of them. And if even one teenaged boy out there tonight sees them, and it means he can live his life, out in the open? It’s worth it.

He pushes off from the wall he was leaning against, heads across to the mini-stage, reaches his hand out as he approaches and Richard’s got a hand stretched out to him too. They clasp hands and then drop them and Richard puts his hand on the back of Brandon’s neck, and pinches Taron’s bum with his other hand, that stupid game they’ve had going since at least the BAFTAs last year, as far as Brandon can tell. 

Taron looks up at Richard and smiles, fondly. “Everything is perfect. Love.”

And then the yelling is ridiculous. ‘Over here, over here!” “Brandon!” “Richard!” “Taron!” And there are almost constant flashes as a thousand photos are taken.

“Will you confirm you’re all seeing each other?” yells one of them, clearly, over the din. 

They’ve rehearsed this. They’re ready. They’re a trio of little shits. They exchange glances and take a breath, all together.

“Sorry,” the three of them say in unison. “We don’t comment on our relationship.” 

_the end_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading. I can't believe it's over. These are pretty much my actual predictions for the Oscars... I had so much fun with this chapter. I so, so, so want it to be like this.
> 
> There really is a post on Brandon Flynn's Facebook account, from when he's about 16 or 17, that simply reads "James Dean was gay?!" but I didn't want to link it because it felt a bit weird trawling back to 2011 on someone's private Facebook (you all congratulate me on 'research' but sometimes it's just creepy, creepy obsession — although if you're reading this and you're any kind of part of Brandon's publicity team, you might want to tell him that it's possible to make all previously public posts 'friends only' with one click). In the comments on that post, he says, "YEA! BUT STILL! THAT was just so unheard of to me.... like damn I'm still a bit shocked...he said "He was not going to live with one hand tied behind his back" ....like woah" and then "I mean I'm not saying that like bad ass people can't be gay, but the fact that I just had'nt heard about it." I think about that James Dean look he's cultivating and how he feels these days whenever anyone says he looks like Dean. And I'm just really proud of him for not living with one hand tied behind his back.
> 
> I've had a lot of questions from people as to whether I really believe Taron is demi or if I really think Richard and Taron are together. Let me me very clear again, this is fiction. The Dom/sub stuff in this extensive fantasy is purely my own personal projection and wishful thinking, and I think Richard and Taron in real life are probably just very good friends. On the other hand, the demi stuff and the gender stuff I think can be argued for... I've linked a lot of the evidence that gave me the first hints for the theories I have outlined [here on tumblr](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/post/189736420128/so-someone-sent-me-an-ask-about-why-taron-would). Please don't tag Taron if you reblog that.
> 
> I will be writing more Madderton, I imagine, and almost certainly some crossover fic from different things that star Richard and Taron, so if you want to [subscribe to me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordwen/pseuds/phoenix_rose) you'll get a notifications when I post those.
> 
> I really hope I've done justice to the central tensions of privacy/transparency that I was exploring here.
> 
> Thank you again for all of your comments. They make all of the hard work worthwhile.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed. You're in for a wild ride. Thank you as always to everyone who has supported my journey into becoming madderton trash and now maddflynn trash, and for all the comments and kudos. It’s just delightful.
> 
> I'd also love to hear from any of you who want to come and say hi to me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mordwen) where I can be found as mordwen. <3


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